How to Write a another Novel

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

2012-01-30T10:02:00.001Z

Just a reminder our 6th annual short story competition is now open for entries (until midnight March 31st).

First prize is a huge £500 + publication. Runner-up receives £100.

Entry is £10 (via Paypal), which lets you submit up to 2 stories, as well as entitling you to a free copy of our next issue (worth £10), which will contain the winning story plus some of the best short fiction from around the globe. All entries are also considered for general publication.

If you're not familiar with the journal, do check out our website, where there are samples of stories we've featured, plus interviews with authors of some great story collections. The journal has a strong visual edge, with stories beautifully displayed in their own bespoke chapbook with illustrations.

'AFTER'

2012-01-26T10:34:00.001Z

(See 'Before' for context.)

IS THIS THE S&M EVENING CLASS?

2012-01-25T20:33:00.002Z

(An old post this, but one, as I begin research for the next book, that resonates.)

Some writers love research; others see it as procedural, essential collation before the creative floodgates can part. As a former journalist, I enjoy the immersion into other worlds, gaining a flavour of lives only previously imagined. I don’t think you can ever research a subject too much. Most of the nascent knowledge won’t grace your prose, but it might inform character in nuanced, unconscious ways. Many authors (Proulx comes to mind) live entirely among the cultures and peoples of their fiction during composition, imbuing them with firsthand experience of such worlds. The temptation, when almost anything can be researched by the click of a mouse, must be to bypass such a naturalistic approach, but you do so at your writing’s peril.

In this novel there are many subjects I had little or no knowledge of, and whereas I began reading about them, it soon became clear I needed to spend time with people who did. One of my characters is a potter. Now I’m sure the wonderful interweb has several million pages on every aspect of ceramics, just waiting for me to trawl through in the early hours. But the time I spent watching someone at a wheel actually making pots, listening to them as they worked, understanding facets that aren't easily delineated, was, I believe, unrivalled. Even the subject matter I felt some small expertise in, I tried where I could to experience first hand.

As for the darker elements of the book, it was certainly tempting to google my way through. Instead, so that I could do my character justice, I sought people who’d gone through what she had. Tentatively I asked for help, and was overwhelmed by people’s bravery and generosity. Asking some of those questions wasn’t easy, but then this business isn’t supposed to be. As a result I feel my character has an authenticity she wouldn’t otherwise have had. She has come to life. She is real.

So whereas we don’t have to trudge to the library for much of our research nowadays, I’d say the next time you’re reading about quantum physics or yoga or S&M or gambling or murder on wikipedia or some such, think about the richness of exposure that will give you. Would a pint with Professor Brian Cox (I expect he's busy, though) lend your research that extra dimension? A week on a yoga retreat? A day in the bookies? (I’ll leave you to fill in the others.)

You owe it to your readers, to yourself, to your story, but most of all to your character to occupy as much of their world as is possible. And legal.

INTERVIEW: CHARLIE BROTHERSTONE

2012-01-20T15:44:00.002Z

A treat for you today. I asked my agent, Charlie Brotherstone of A.M. Heath, a little about his job, the role of the literary agent and the future of publishing.

"What's this shit, Tom?"

Hi Charlie. Welcome. I'm sure no such thing exists, but can you tell us a little about the typical day of a literary agent.

Hi Tom. A day can range from very mundane to really exciting, which is part of the appeal. A publisher could phone up and make you an offer for a book, or you could get stuck looking for a contract which, after many hours you find was never in the file (often the case). A lottery, but at its best great.

What's the most exciting aspect of your job?

Without doubt the best feeling is telling a writer they have a deal and they are going to be published. When you speak to people they don’t realise that a lot of work goes on behind the scenes before a publishing deal is struck. It’s a genuinely great moment between the writer and the agent, and is a hugely satisfying part of the job.

I'm guessing a love of good fiction is the minimum requisite, but how exactly did you become a literary agent?

I didn’t know such a thing existed until I was at university studying English. I did work experience at a very vibrant company and it seemed like an incredible place to work. A forum for ideas as much as a workplace, with inspiring people milling around all the time. I still find that is the case. The intellectual engagement the job offers is a huge appeal and producing good writing, whether fiction or non-fiction, is a great motivator.

Is there one thing above all else you look out for in submissions?

Not really. The submission process is quite straightforward and the guidelines are clear. People often seem to get them wrong, however, with a bizarrely personal cover letter or a book-length synopsis, or writing a novel that is thinnest layered autobiography, with a fictional James for a real life John, etc.

Working together on my book was a wonderfully rewarding period for me: a fresh pair of eyes, sensing your passion for the novel, a new critical awareness. How do you find the editing process, trying to realise a book's potential ahead of submission? Do writers always agree with your proposed changes?

It’s by far the most rewarding aspect of the job, as my earlier answer suggests. Working together on the novel was a fantastic mutual exchange of ideas. Some writers are more responsive, others not, and usually as an agent you have to gauge the right level. Every person and book is different which is a challenge. Getting on with different individuals is a good life skill though, and mostly authors tend to be pretty nice people.

Do new (and established) writers need an agent to achieve mainstream publication?

An agent without doubt helps and 90% or more of authors have one. In terms of editing they can be helpful, as discussed, but in protecting the author’s interests they are indispensable because they have a long history of doing business with publishers. On the whole authors are totally new to the game and would not consider contractual negotiations part of their (artistic!) remit. There are exceptions. Further down the line the agent is a vital middle man checking on the progress of marketing, publicity and editorial departments at the author's publishers. That’s a very difficult thing for an individual author to do without upsetting relations with a publisher. It is expected of an agent, which is why publishers sometimes don't like us very much.

Do you still find time to read for pleasure?

Yes, but it’s increasingly difficult! I try to split reading on an e-reader for work and physical books for pleasure but the new Kindle is making that tougher.

There's much debate concerning the future of books, the impact the digital age will have on them. How do you see things going in the near to medium future?

It’s a huge question which dominates most publishing seminars and it’s difficult to make predictions. The ratio of ebook sales to physical will continue to increase (not exactly Nostrodamus), but we are in a reactive state to the market. 1.2 million Kindles bought over Christmas can only mean one thing. Economic decline has been deleterious to the industry and has made an already challenging time very difficult indeed. Publishers are more conservative and are paying smaller advances. The next few years are going to be tough, as they will be in other industries. Whether we need government tax breaks to incentivise authors is up for debate. If we can ride the storm hopefully there will be more prosperous times ahead. Books are so much a part of the nation’s culture that it is abhorrent to think of there being anything other than a thriving publishing industry in the UK, and there are plenty of people willing to fight passionately for it.

I NAME THEE...

2012-01-12T16:35:00.004Z

I’m off to London next week. For lunch. And dinner. The former with my editor and agent, the latter with just the latter, who has promised we won’t end up lost in a transvestite bar in Soho this time. Don’t ask. Or, actually, do if you like; he’ll be appearing here soon for an interview.

Mostly, though, we’re going to discuss titles. You know, those things charged with the small task of capturing a book’s essence. Of resonating loudly and beautifully. Of making a bold and irresistible statement that will flourish, emblazoning itself indelibly into readers’ hearts and minds. No pressure, then. I have one or two favourites, ones that, like yapping dogs tugging at my trousers, are sensing the time for a verdict is near.

- Me me me. Pick me.

- Sorry. It’s been a tough call. I love you all but…

The rest will be taken away and shot. Better get it right.

SHORT STORY COURSE

2012-01-10T10:16:00.002Z

Fancy giving your writing a New Year kick-start? A shot in the arm to make 2012 your breakthrough year.

Back, as they say, by popular demand, I am running my 6-week online course ‘The Art of the Short Story’ (starting in February), which looks at the following elements:

A brief history of the short story
Narrative voice
Leaving space for the reader
Characterisation
Theme
Language
Critical analysis and revision
Structure and unity of effect
Submitting to competitions/journals

The course is demanding – you will need to devote between four and six hours a week to it – but, of course, this can be done from the comfort of your own home.

Drop me a note if this is something you think you’ll benefit from. More details here, where you can see some endorsements from those who took the course last year.

'BEFORE'

2012-01-08T10:56:00.000Z

So this is where the next book will be penned. Bit exposed to the elements, I admit, but you have to use your imagination. Because following an imminent erection, a writing den will adorn the bottom of my garden. It will have a small wood burner, gnarled furniture, but mostly solitude. Just the sound of the river and birdsong for company.

As I settle into the hard graft of the next novel, I’m increasingly aware of distractions: a phone call, a visitor, the interweb and all its prosaic lure. I’ve always had an envy for writers who take themselves away, immersing in deepest, darkest somewhere, barely a candle and some stale bread for sustenance, as snow piles up around their cabin, communication with the outside world put from temptation’s reach. The intensity of just them and the book, finally emerging months, years later, bearded (even the women), half their body weight gone, triumphantly holding aloft a manuscript of sheer genius.

And whereas this seclusion is possible for a week or two – plenty of writerly friends book themselves a retreat of sorts – the practicalities of real life prevent it occuring on any grand scale. So I thought I’d bring the retreat to me. A little snug with no phone line, just out of wireless range, no electricity. Accessible in ten seconds. I will go there, a-hum, every day and just write.

So what of the next book? Well, firstly writing to a (publisher induced) deadline is a new experience. Novel #1 was forged amid the luxury of timelessness (other than a self-imposed goal, by way of keeping insanity at bay). I wrote when I wanted to, at the pace I felt like. And so there’s motivation and a little terror the whole way this time. I’m having to revise my idea of discipline and commitment. And for the first time in life, I’m learning to say No.

Coming soon: 'AFTER'

REVIEW: TOUCH

2012-01-02T20:26:00.003Z

I was slow coming to this. You don’t rush to the book that pipped you to a major literary prize. But then good books have a way of finding you. And so for several nights over the holidays I settled by a fire, with a glass of something, savouring a collection I imagine will become a favourite.

The stories in Touch are bestowed with a poet’s precision. Beautifully crafted worlds, rich with nature’s rhythms, its chords and hues, unspool with a masterly resonance, a cadence that only the sheerest affection for words and their power allows. Meditations on the enduring human truths form, yet never at the expense of the unfurling narratives: familial binds, the tyranny of the past, of what can be borne by the heart, and what cannot. Mort is expert in implying something’s presence, in allowing the reader to find their own meaning and hope and delight, to complete the aesthetic journey he so brilliantly sets them on. There is much elegiac here – characters flanked by the ghosts of memory, gripped by loneliness, lives lost to love and the vagaries of fortune – and yet, as with the best stories, there remains a warmth woven through them, an aching beauty, an elegance and grace that is both affecting and comforting. More than that there’s a quiet dignity here.

To read this book is to understand the short story’s potential, its flair to simultaneously give great pleasure and reveal all that is human. I’d wager it’s the best collection of stories in recent years. Probably longer.

You can read Graham's thoughts on the short story in this discussion we had, an interview that led me to Touch.

SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE

2011-12-21T20:32:00.000Z

Well, that’s about it for another year. Time to hunker down by the fire, with a glass of something, a book or two. Catch up with friends, family. Make an arse of myself on New Year’s Eve.

Thank you for all your lovely comments and encouragement. Apologies for several barren spells; on the 31^st I’ll resolve to post more frequently!

I wish you much peace and happiness over the festive period. And despite my godlessness being on the fundamentalist side, I’ll leave you with a carol. Until next year.

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

2011-12-20T16:58:00.002Z

It's (almost) here. Short FICTION's 6th Annual Short Story Prize.

First Prize - £500 + publication

Runner-up - £100

Entry is £10, which lets you submit two stories, plus gets you a copy of our next issue (worth £10).

All stories are also considered for publication.

What are you waiting for? Get polishing those stories. Details here.

And come and 'like' our FB page to keep in touch.

LITERARY MASTURBATION

2011-12-09T19:04:00.000Z

I’m coming to the end of the book’s final edits, changes suggested, though not insisted upon, by my editor. We’re not talking wholesale dismantling here, the culling of a main character, dramatic alterations in plot or tense. More the last brushstrokes, correcting slips in voice, a scene that’s been under- or over-played.

But there was one section I found hard to banish. A moment my character reflects on a number of philosophical issues germane to her situation. I felt it was, er-hum, very well written. Clever, even. It revealed an insight, not only into her intellect, but allowed me to demonstrate a passion and eloquence for a subject matter that resonates greatly for me. And this is where the alarms should have rung loud. Fortunately they did for my editor, who saw it for exactly what it was: literary masturbation of the highest order. Authorial voice, a pretentious one at that, had permeated what was until then a perfectly adequate piece of narration. Like an opportunistic egoist I’d hijacked the scene for my own garrulous needs.

And so, with much reticence, a little resentment and one eye shut, I did the necessary: highlight and delete. (Or if you think something meritorious for a future outing: highlight, cut and save elsewhere.) It really hurt. Hours had been spent. But with the hindsight of a day or two, I see the sense it made.

Be prepared to kill those darlings. Especially the ones that excite you most.

DANCING WITH DEMONS

2011-12-05T14:01:00.000Z

So, the next book. Barring some final tweaks to the previous, it’s all about the next novel now. And considering the Orwell quote down there in the sidebar (‘Writing a book is like a long bout of painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if not driven by some demon’), I thought I’d reflect a little before launching myself proper into the next abyss.

Yes, this time there’s a certain necessity to it: I’ve signed a deal for two books, so am contractually bound. There’s a deadline involved too.

But fear-inducing as this could be, it isn’t going to be the factor that compels me to return again and again, day after day, month after month, to do battle with a flashing cursor, to dance with Orwell’s demon.

And some dance it is. Self-doubt: in my ability, in the book itself. The sheer scale of the beast: it’s not just that you have to write 100,000 words, they have to be flipping good. The stamina required: it’s tough enough when things go well, with the book and life in general, but you can’t only write in the good times. The isolation. The endless revision/re-drafting. Elements of plot that won’t come together. Characters who won’t behave. I’m not bemoaning the dance – it is, after all, one I’ve chosen. But there were several times, deep in the long months / years of composition last time round, that I swore (Steve Redgrave-esque) never to do this again again: If you see me anywhere near a pen, you have my permission to shoot me. I at least thought I’d do something else in between – a play, another story collection, find my much neglected guitar.

But I realized my fiction almost always emerges from a unifying concept, a single theme and event, in a very visual, almost filmic way. The characters and setting and plot all follow. And so once this is in place, risen from my subconscious, my primordial swamp, it gathers momentum almost regardless of me. And this particular idea, this mise-en-scène, came to me months ago, when I didn’t have time to nurture and indulge it. So it was banished to the dark corners of my mind, where it seems it’s been lurking, a parasite to my thoughts and memories and dreams, coalescing them all before allowing the slow secretion of narrative possibilities. Sleep is disturbed, every day ephemera viewed through a haze of irrelevance. Friends increasingly ignored.

So you see essentially there’s little choice. It will not be ignored. The possession has begun.

STOCKING FILLERS...

2011-11-25T10:33:00.001Z

...for short story fans (and lovers of fine fiction).

I’m not one for putting hours of thoughts into people’s presents, but folk who know me at least get some bloody good fiction hanging above their fireplace. And so, in case you’re stuck for ideas, here are a few of my literary delights from this year.

I’d say this is one of the best literary journals out there, but I am biased. Our new issue is our most visual yet, featuring a graphic novel by Tony Barnstone and Dorothy Tunnell as well as the fully-illustrated, first two sections of Joe Wenderoth's Agony. Writers’ work is beautifully presented within its own chapbook, complete with bespoke illustrations. Over the years we’ve published some of the finest short fiction out there, discovering new names, whilst remembering brilliant current ones. Postage is free and there are sample stories on the website, including interviews. There are back issues available too (Short FICTION 3, I think, is remarkable in its quality and is only £7.)

A fellow Scott Prize winner, Patrick’s stories are beautifully wrought, slow-burning masterpieces that linger long in the mind. This is a one of those collections I hate lending to friends, lest I never see it again.

This year’s Edge Hill prizewinner, Graham is a writer you become genuinely excited about discovering. We’re publishing a fantastic story of his in Short FICTION 6 next year, a piece I read, sprinted to the editor’s office and, breathless, slammed it on his desk with an emphatic: YES.

Zoe Lambert’s stories span global conflicts, teasing out human stories that non-fictional accounts often fail to tell. Wonderfully crafted, they’re a salutary reminder of the silent casualties of war.

Oh, and did I mention my book? Probably have. Anyway, tis available at usual outlets, but for a signed copy there’s a link in the sidebar.

Happy book shopping.

WHIPPED INTO SHAPE

2011-11-21T21:50:00.000Z

My editor is sending through final edits for the novel this week. It’s early on in our professional relationship, but already I’m delighted with the input she’s had. Her passion for the book (which she must now know almost as well as I do) has been both heartening and inspirational, and I’ve agreed with almost every editorial tweak suggested so far.

As artists, writers especially, we beaver away in solitude for such long periods, sculpting, we hope, something of worth, immersed utterly in the book’s demands, obsessed by the story and its composition, that it feels strange to then share the last part of the process with another person. We’re not talking about equal collaboration here, but even so a passage of negotiation must usually be entered, often with writer and editor owning disparate visions of the final book. I imagine writers’ creative sensibilities and egos are stretched, as opinions differ, compromises sought, feet stamped.

But so far, it’s been nothing but rewarding, watching the novel strengthened with a few deft and knowing strokes.

LAUNCH OF SHORT FICTION 5

2011-11-14T14:20:00.002Z

I know Plymouth is miles from anywhere, but I’m working hard to render it a literary outpost, a bastion of fine fiction here in the South West. Heck, we even have an international book festival here next year. A smaller but no less significant event occurs on December 1^st if you happen to be in town or passing.

Short FICTION 5 will be launched at 7pm in Lecture Theatre 1 of Roland Levinsky. Our latest issue is our most visual yet, featuring a graphic novel by Tony Barnstone and Dorothy Tunnell as well as the fully-illustrated, first two sections of Joe Wenderoth's Agony. This year's launch includes a reading from Carol Mavor. A free wine reception will follow.

What more do you want?

AND THE WINNER IS...

2011-11-07T09:26:00.001Z

William Rycroft (see below), who was pulled at random from a hat-like object just now. Well done William. A signed copy of The Method and Other Stories to you, sir. Drop me a note at tomvowler at hotmail dot com with your address and I'll pop it in the post.

Coming soonest: an interview with my literary agent, the brilliant Charlie Brotherstone at A.M. Heath (who I've just about forgiven for a recent terrible hangover).

LEARNING 'EM TO WRITE

2011-11-05T10:16:00.001Z

A couple of months ago I became an associate lecturer in creative writing at the University of Plymouth, teaching a module on their MA program. The job resurrected all kinds of issues for me – not least whether the production of fiction can be taught, something I blogged a little about here. Of course you can instruct on elements of fiction – character development, creating tension, the scope of various narrative techniques – but can you make someone a better writer? One of the most salient and vocal criticisms of such courses is that they produce structurally competent writers but ones with little originality, ones who take few risks, who don’t push their aesthetic, artistic boundaries, as if the creative aspect of their minds was somehow manipulated, driven to literary inanity. The pejorative term ‘creative writing fiction’ emerged, an industry term used for a brand of supposedly formulaic fiction churned out since the proliferation of such courses.

So is an MA in creative writing necessary to become published these days? Obviously not, and yet such programs remain remarkably popular. Personally, I have nothing but praise for these courses and those who undertake them – and it’s really not for the faint-hearted, composing fiction for strangers to rip to shreds in front of you the following week.

Another concern is that students occasionally have unrealistic expectations (particularly in the current climate) of publication – that graduation will bestow immediate book deals upon them. Or that a strict vocation is being pragmatically sought: Yeah, I think I’ll become a writer this month. Again, this doesn’t resonate with my own experience. Mostly students merely want to improve and better understand their art/craft, to gain insight and a critical awareness, to explore a burgeoning calling, a compelling urge to produce fiction that mimics the impact their favourite books have had on them.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THE METHOD

2011-10-31T10:59:00.001Z

So, it was a year ago today my short story collection emerged into the world, a giddy, breathless time of launches and readings and libations. I'm still overwhelmed by how well it's been received (great reviews, a couple of prizes) - and my Best Man even quoted from it in his speech at my wedding last week, though he was taking the piss.

And it's been a wonderful twelve months since, crowned with a two-book deal, the first of which inspired this blog as I began the journey writing it.

And so to celebrate today, I'm giving away a signed copy of The Method. Just leave a comment below and I'll draw a name at random next week.

SHORT FICTION'S NEW WEBSITE

2011-10-15T12:54:00.000+01:00

Cover of our forthcoming issue

Okay, so our previous website was crap. But with a staff of two, thousands of stories to read, a journal to put together, there just wasn't the time. Until now. So what are you waiting for? Go and check it out here. There's an interview with the brilliant Philip O’Ceallaigh on all things short story-ish, plus some wonderful sample stories from previous issues. Submissions guidelines are up and details of our competition, with first prize of £500, will appear in the New Year.

(SOME OF) THE BEST BITS

2011-10-11T08:49:00.001+01:00

I see this blog has some new followers. You're very welcome. And because you're new you won't have seen these, er-hum, wonderful posts on writing that came in between me waffling on. So here's where it all began, my first post, almost three years ago, when I began this crazy journey. Here are some writerly rules, some of which I stuck to. And a piece on taking risks along the way. And how many of these books can you identify from their first lines? Here's a guest post by author Jenn Ashworth. And this could be my favourite poem.

So have a look around; the archive in the side-bar has some great (especially the ones I didn't pen) posts on the curious pursuit of writing.

And what's to come? I hear you say. Well, look out for a chance to win my book as it approaches its first birthday. There's an interview with my wonderful editor, on what she looks for in a book. Plus one with my brilliant agent at AM Heath, though I've not actually asked him yet. I'm sure he'll be up for it, he's good like that.

THE ROAD TO PUBLICATION...

2011-10-04T09:13:00.002+01:00

...is generally a long one. There perhaps exist shortcuts for some (so-called celebrities, the very lucky and the obscenely talented – although this last group’s virtue usually has its origin in hard work / time spent on the road), but for the rest of us we’d better get used to the long game.

And so, with the luxury of a book deal, I wanted to look at the reasons I think I finally got there, lest you think I’m just a lucky so and so. Or a celebrity.

Ø An apprenticeship served. Somewhere between plucking a few strings on your first acoustic guitar and appearing on Glastonbury’s Pyramid Stage on the Saturday night is, you’d hope, some practice. A lot of it. About ten thousand hours I read somewhere - an arbitrary figure plucked to demonstrate the work needed to achieve virtuosity in anything. And this goes for writing.

Ø A commitment to your art/craft. No longer merely a hobby, you will need an obsessive devotion to your writing. Days you do not write (and read) are exceptional. Indeed, you resent them, that little precious time you find for composition more precious than almost anything else in your life.

Ø A desire to constantly improve. Rejection hurts, but it’ll be one of your most valuable (and frequently visiting) friends in the early days. Don’t fall into the lazy trap of dismissing those who deliver bad news as wrong or elitist or incapable of recognising your thus unrecognisable genius. Come back to their words in a few days and look honestly and hard at them. Give them no reason to reject you next time.

Ø Writing is re-writing. I save my biggest belly laughs for those who post in forums that prose, like visual art, can be spoiled by too many strokes, that you need to know when to leave it alone, to not over-egg it. For me, at least, I can never edit enough. The work can always be improved. Only deadlines and a gathering insanity allow me not to work on something indefinitely.

Ø An original voice / concept. Fuck. Thought I’d put this one last, as it’s a little intimidating. It’s also, I believe, the single most important factor that led to the bidding for my book. Publishers want something fresh, a story or voice they’ve not heard before, that’s going to stand out, firstly from the thousands of manuscripts adorning their desks, and, eventually, from every other book coming out that year. Now, I didn’t start the book with this in mind, so perhaps this is the luck element, a concept that found me. But you can find a unique voice, though, alas, not generally by looking for one! A post on voice to follow soon.

Happy writing.

THE WONDER OF SMALL WONDER

2011-09-25T11:26:00.002+01:00

I suppose there are literary festivals and there are literary festivals. And if you’re ever lucky enough to get the chance to visit Small Wonder, either as a performer or festival-goer, grab it without a second’s thought.

Situated in the heart of the South Downs, the festival is held at Charleston, one-time country retreat to the artists and writers of the Bloomsbury group.

We stayed at nearby Tilton House, itself one of those magical, still places that writers dream about retreating to. Hammocks hang from its mature trees; a log burner awaits in the yurt at the back of the garden; a fire pit in a woodland clearing, the perfect setting for stargazing.

And summer seemed to return as bees droned lazily in exotic flowers and cats sunned themselves in the courtyard.

The main events at Small Wonder take place in a wonderful barn, the perfect amphitheatre, with words and stories swirling above the audience in its rafters. I read from my collection and talked about the short story with Guardian feature writer John Crace.

There followed some superb dinner in the Green Room, before we headed to the Arabian tent for a night-time owl display.

Back at Tilton we gathered around the fire for wine and cheese, discussing the joy of the short story into the early hours.

Returning home to the drizzle of Dartmoor seemed to confirm I’d rather fallen in love with Charleston, a love affair I hope to rekindle next year.

ARE YOU SITTING DOWN?

2011-09-22T11:04:00.001+01:00

There always felt something a little fraudulent about this blog, its title somewhat arrogant, a claim unsupported by a publishing track-record – a short story collection aside. My aim was to give an insight into process, a glimpse of a journey, its highs and lows, as the book took shape, so perhaps How to Write a Novel? would have been more apposite.

But now I’m delighted to say (following a call from my agent that began with the title of this piece) I’ve just agreed a two-book deal with a major publisher. We met last month, discussed some editorial tweaks, plus The Next Book, and here we are. The next bit, I suppose, is the fun bit: seeing the book come together, a cover designed, countdown to the launch. And Book Two is taking shape nicely, consuming both waking and non-waking hours. The publisher brings out a great mix of commercial and literary fiction, and apparently my book spans the two. It’s been termed both a psychological thriller and Book Group fiction – insider term for novels that appear on those TV shows.

I wanted to briefly mention two-book deals (whether to accept or decline), which to non-writer folk must appear a no-brainer. Friend and author Vanessa Gebbie makes a compelling case for declining such an offer. For me, though, the two-book deal made sense, the reasons legion.

I’ll talk about these a little in the coming months, but mostly I want to share the next part of the journey with you, the stage we all dream of when first we sit down, alone, confused, full of bravado and naivety, in front of a blank screen / page, with the absurd notion we might have a story in us that someone else would want to read.

And so I'll let you know how the next bit goes. For now, though, it’s a glass or two of something.

(ANOTHER) POEM IN A PILE

2011-09-20T12:08:00.001+01:00

My dear friend, James Walkley-Cox, also found a window in his day for some composition.

A Visitation of the Plague
'So farewell then,' she said,
'You'll never again have the pleasure of my company.'
'Give this one fat englishman a chance?'
'It's too late: Everything is Illuminated.
I know The Origin of the Crabs.
It's Rebecca, isn't it?!
That...that...Shopgirl!'
She paused at the frontdoor: 'Give me The Interesting Bits (She was Fishing for closure.)
'On The Driver's Seat' I blurted out.
SLAM.

Not bad with only one bookcase.

A POEM IN A PILE

2011-09-19T11:11:00.004+01:00

Inspired by the wonderful Mr Pack, here's a poem, created from books on my shelves.

Have a go. You know you want to.

WHAT WAS LOST
on THE ROAD
to INFINITE RICHES,
back in NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR,
was our MINDS AND BODIES,
AS IF
THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US
was INVISIBLE and
THE MADNESS OF LOVE,
WHATEVER LOVE MEANS,
was THE LOUDEST SOUND AND NOTHING
could hurt our PERFECT LIVES.
But then: DISGRACE.
And AFTER YOU'D GONE,
in my HEART OF DARKNESS:
THINGS FALL APART.

THE METHOD ON TOUR

2011-09-13T12:03:00.004+01:00

I'll be discussing the thrill of the short story and reading from the collection at the forthcoming literary events:

Small Wonder - Friday 23rd September

Appledore Book Festival - Wednesday 28th September

Chapter & Verse Literature Festival

Do pop along and see me.There'll be a peep at the new novel too.

MY 5 TOP READS OF THE YEAR SO FAR

2011-07-26T14:55:00.004+01:00

It rarely happens, but on occasion I’m stuck for something to read. You know, that moment you browse your shelves and nothing appeals, that last book your friend said they couldn’t put down, you, well, put it down. And so, for what it’s worth, here are the five books I’ve enjoyed most this year. Take them or leave them. Actually, don’t leave them: your literary life will be poorer in their absence. And why not tell me your own favourite five reads of the year so far.

Many writers achieve a compelling, powerful narrative at the expense of beautifully woven prose – or vice versa. Robinson’s unsettling yet tender tale pulls off both and so much more.

More a novella, the voice quietly burrows beneath your skin as the horror slowly builds. The book’s power comes from the space left for the reader.

Masterly crafted stories, one of the strongest collections I’ve read for years.

One of those wonderful novels to lose yourself in, content you’re in expert hands. Can hardly wait to see what Lee writes next.

Regular readers of this blog will be sick of me banging on about this book. Tough. I first read it in one sitting, appositely by an open fire, in 2009. I did the same in early spring this year, savouring every beautiful and extraordinary page.

COMFORTABLY NUMB

2011-07-12T12:21:00.001+01:00

I’m not really a city person – the bustle, the clamour, everyone except me knowing where they’re going – but I do enjoy them in small doses, especially my latest sojourn in the capital. The day, particularly the evening, was garbed in surreality, so I suppose there was an inevitability I’d end up lost in Soho at midnight (my agent had abandoned me in a transvestite bar – don’t ask), battling a fug of Sambuca and Old Peculiar in search of my hotel.

This was all after The Method had picked up the Readers’ Prize at the Edge Hill award ceremony in Blackwell’s Charing Cross bookshop, whereupon I shook hands with Dave Gilmore, which alone would have made my day. I then chatted to Jeremy Dyson (pictured above), last year’s winner and one of this year’s judges, who is a lovely, unassuming man. I did laugh when he winced a little, saying that he loved my book, but, boy, it was dark. This coming from one of the writers of The League of Gentlemen.

One of the ways I cope with city-dom is to shove wine, especially the free kind, down my neck with alacrity – a tactic I regretted when asked to do a couple of interviews, one of which involved a TV camera. I think we got to ‘take six’ before something coherent was mouthed. I should probably have prepared a few words, but I really hadn’t expected to win. That’s not false modesty, just that I’d read some of the other books on the list, collections I urge you to seek out.

It was lovely to meet the other shortlisted authors, Helen Simpson, Michelle Roberts and Polly Sampson, although Graham Mort, winner of the main prize, was unable to attend, committed as he was to writing projects in Uganda, a little of which you can read about here. There was also the chance to meet all manner of literary folk and lovers/writers of the short story, and I was even invited to perform at this year’s Small Wonder Festival, which I’ve heard fantastic things about.

Overall a great night, in which I met some hitherto cyber friends, got a little drunk and discussed the wonders of the short story into the early hours.

I’d like to say a special thank you to Ailsa Cox and Carys Bray, who co-ordinated the event and made me feel so welcome. The Edge Hill Prize is unique and I hope it goes from strength to strength.

D.I.S.C.O.

2011-06-21T14:46:00.000+01:00

Despite my skills in rocket science easily trumping my IT ones, I managed to build this website. (To be fair the host’s design package makes it idiot-proof.)

One reason for its genesis is an interest in the online course I’m running, entitled ‘The Art of the Short Story’. So if you think your writing group (or it can be tailored to the individual) would benefit, pop over and have a look.

Full-length manuscript appraisal isn’t something I’m particularly interested in doing (there are a legion of companies out there offering this service – some good, some not so), but I am offering detailed feedback on short stories – again have a look at the website. Over the last few years I’ve almost been brought to tears by some potentially great stories, submitted by the several-hundred-load to the journal or its competition, only for them to fall flat at the last hurdle. And if you’re in a pile with 600 others, yours had better be flawless to warrant a second read. Yes, a lot of it is subjective, but the mistakes people make are surprisingly uniform.

In other news I’m appearing at Appledore Book Festival this year. I grew up in the village, so it’ll be a little strange performing in the hall I remember most for furtive snogs during primary school discos.

I'M A LADY (SOMETIMES)

2011-06-13T11:45:00.000+01:00

At a recent reading an audience member asked me about writing from a female perspective (the last novel, in both first- and third-person, is narrated by a woman), something I’ve not really spoken about. At the time, in the planning stage, I’d thought it no different to trying to capture any other voice – a child’s, an old man’s, someone from a different culture. But I think, looking back, it presented some interesting and unique challenges.

So, how did I come to choose this voice, that of a 40-year-old woman? The genesis of my fiction, at least the longer version, tends to come from an event, or at least a concept that fascinates me, and, I hope, the reader. This could be something seen on the News, or an experience closer to home, which immediately becomes the fulcrum the story turns on. And having taken this starting point, by definition I needed a woman to narrate and so I set about looking for one. I’d heard of writers who ‘do the opposite sex well’, and also read books that, for me, didn’t capture the narrator’s essence, but it wasn’t as if I had a choice really.

So how did I approach it? There are certain scenes and themes in the novel that, by dint of my gender, I literally could not experience, and so much time was spent in conversation with female friends, trying to tease out the intricacies, the nuances of these – much like researching anything else I suppose. But this doesn’t give you voice – that crucial element that allows resonance and verisimilitude to flourish, sweeping the reader up into the narrative so they forget they’re reading, forget it’s fiction. This is something far more nebulous.

And the honest response to this: I’m not entirely sure. My best guess would be two factors. Firstly, reading a lot of (believable) female narrators; and secondly, and perhaps more crucially, having had a good few extraordinary female friends who’ve influenced my life significantly, their qualities, their sensibilities and peculiarities resounding through my composition.

Looking back, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time, it feels like a huge gamble, (then, writing any novel is), but I believe (and fortunately my agent agrees) I’ve captured Anna’s voice. She is real.

So, which male writers do you think do women well/badly, and vice versa? Or perhaps I’m making too much of this: characters are characters, are they not?

HELLO, DAVE

2011-05-17T08:37:00.001+01:00

It was thrilling to hear the collection had made this prestigious shortlist, especially given the calibre of those accompanying me. I quite like the reference ‘rising star’, but I have been writing a little longer than two years.

The award ceremony is in London on July 7th, where I’ll get to meet the judges, one of whom was one of the creators of this crepuscular character.

I've still a few copies left; if you'd like a signed one, there's a box in the sidebar on the left.

THE WAITING GAME

2011-05-07T09:43:00.001+01:00

So, after almost two years in the writing (and researching, planning, editing and endless rewriting), my lovely agent submitted the novel to some publishing houses this week. It's a curious feeling, that all that effort, the above mentioned blood, sweat and beer, has come down to an email attachment arriving in some editor's inbox. And now we wait for the verdicts to come in.

Meanwhile, on the subject of waiting, I was wondering, if you found yourself washed up here, with only one book at your disposal, would it be a novel, a collection of poetry or a book of short stories, to keep you company until help arrived, or didn't? And if you want to name the book, all the better.

THE ART OF THE SHORT STORY

2011-05-03T13:51:00.001+01:00

I’m running an online workshop on short fiction at the end of May. Here’s the blurb:

This is a six-week online course, which will look at all elements of the short story, including narrative voice, character development, language and style, setting up the story and engaging the reader. By the end of the course you should be able to:

Demonstrate an understanding of narrative analysis and technique
Recognise compelling and consistent voice
Develop a strong critical awareness of your own work
Have a body of work/new ideas to take forward
Understand the power of allowing the reader space in a story
Have a sense of why the best stories work

There are still a few places left and I believe you can sign up here.

AND THE WINNER IS...

2011-05-02T10:41:00.002+01:00

Congratulations to Louis Malloy for winning this year's Short FICTION Prize with his story 'Goldrush'. Judge Gerard Donovan had this to say:

'This accomplished piece about the hunt for invisible wealth beyond reach of all but hope and timing is distinguished at once by the skill with which – on so many levels – the author renders invisibility in the telling itself. Pared down to the hunger of desperate characters, the revelation is that of a robber preying on the seekers of wealth: a timeless journey of search and disappointment. The author allows the story itself to dictate what doesn’t need telling, details that some writers might well be tempted to render for the sake of a perceived need for verisimilitude. The great achievement here lies indeed in how those details are left hidden, as meaningless as they would be to the eyes and ears of bone-weary prospectors. In fact the pace of the story barely keeps one foot in front of the other; yet the reader is content not to want to hurry things along. The alchemy this writer brings to the page transmutes all that is concealed into a brutal gleam in the mind.'

The runners-up were:

'The Kambala Buffaloes' by Leo Madigan

'The End of the World' by Catharine Mee

'When the Hearse Goes by' by Nuala Ní Chonchúir

'Punctures' by Madeline Sonik

Louis wins £500 and his story will be published in its own illustrated chapbook in Issue 5, out this autumn.

The longlist can be found below. Thanks to all who entered.

SHORT FICTION: COMPETITION LONGLIST

2011-04-25T17:42:00.001+01:00

ISSUE 4

Short FICTION is delighted to name the longlisted stories for this year’s competition.

The shortlist and winner will be announced in the next week or so, chosen by award-winning Irish writer Gerard Donovan. The winner will receive £500 and have their story published in Issue 5, due out in the autumn.

A huge thank you to all who entered – the standard was especially high this year (the competition was open to writers at any stage of their career) and I know Gerard is going to have a tough time picking a winner. Everyone who entered will receive a copy of Issue 5, featuring the winning story plus some of the best short fiction from around the world.

‘Punctures’ by Madeline Sonik

‘The End of the World’ by Catharine Mee

‘Gulls’ by A J Ashworth

‘Theatrics’ by Wes Lee

‘Postman’s Knock’ by Angela Sherlock

‘The Goldrush’ by Louis Malloy

‘Squintar’ by Annemarie Neary

'An Intimately Moral Universe' by Helen Banner

‘Butter’ by Adnan Mahmutovic

‘When the Hearse Goes By’ by Nuala Ni Chonchuir

'Shadowboxes' by Vanessa Blakeslee

'The Quiet Stars' by John Saul

‘Old Roffe’ by Nigel Jarrett

'The Kambala Buffaloes’ by Leo Madigan

(Apologies if the Short FICTION website is a day or so behind with this announcement, but its gremlins are as pervasive as ever.)

SOME WEEK

2011-04-01T09:37:00.001+01:00

It was thrilling to see The Method make the longlist of the Edge Hill Prize - I’m still rather overwhelmed by the great reception the book’s had. There are some extraordinarily talented names on that list, so with no expectations of making the shortlist in May, I’ll cross some fingers anyway.

And then the day got even better. I’ve been working on the novel with an agent at AM Heath, and this week they signed me up. I’m off up to Lundin Town to meet him next week, walking through the same door a certain George Orwell used to. All very humbling.

Happy, as they say, days.

INTERVIEW: JO CANNON

2011-02-08T08:52:00.002Z

A guest today. The lovely and talented Jo Cannon has popped by to talk about her short story collection, Insignificant Gestures.

Welcome Jo. It was wonderful to read your book, especially as my own debut collection came out around the same time. For me it was a magical moment, first seeing and holding it after years of hard work; how was it for you?

Thanks, Tom. Yes, it feels as though our little ones started school together! Like you, the moment when I opened the jiffy bag from my publisher to see my book for the first time will stay with me always.

I remember us being published in Cadenza together – I think you pipped me to the first prize. I wonder, did you have any sense back then of a full-length collection?

That was September 2007. Although I’d been writing stories for a few years, I certainly didn’t expect to publish a collection. Many things happened subsequently. I met Vanessa Gebbie, author of Words from a Glass Bubble, who encouraged me to put a book together. I joined Fiction Forge, an on-line forum for short story writers (where we met!) which helped me take my writing seriously. A few more ‘hits’ increased my confidence. I had no concept of an overarching theme for a collection until I was rewriting and editing in preparation for submitting the book. And to be honest, Pewter Rose accepting my collection was a lucky break.

What can people expect from your stories?

Having coughed up eight quid, I sincerely hope they enjoy reading the book. I’d be delighted if they identify with the inner worlds of my characters, and recognise a shared humanity. Although a few of the stories are dark, the book is intended to be upbeat, and I hope it makes the reader smile too.

I’m interested in whether you had any say in which stories were included and also the order they appear.

My publisher, Anne McDonnell, allowed me plenty of say. She rejected several stories, but let me argue one, my favourite, back in. She was keen to start with the story ‘Insignificant Gestures,’ but beyond that accepted my ordering, and even tolerated me changing my mind more than once. We differed on the title. My choice was Running on the Right Side of the Brain, but Anne thought Insignificant Gestures was catchier and better conveyed the theme.

Now that The Method has been out there a while, people have commented on the book’s themes, some of which are more prevalent then I realised. Were you aware of specific themes, a unifying aesthetic perhaps, or is theme something that seeps into your work almost unconsciously?

As with dreams, themes may not be immediately clear to the writer, so I’m interested when a reader, like a psychiatrist, spots them first. I’m sure they arise from the sub-conscious. Inevitably they echo the writer’s preoccupations. I came to writing in mid-life, ahem, so many of my stories reflect the concerns and experiences of these years: bereavement; child rearing; deepening friendships; increased experience in one’s work. Inevitably they resonate with the Zeitgeist. Written in the aftermath of 9/11 and the Iraq war, many of my stories have a backdrop of fragile, disintegrating societies which mirror the characters’ internal worlds. I’d thought the theme of the book was exile, but my publisher focused on the idea that the characters are outsiders, and the ‘Insignificant Gestures’ motif. Other people have commented on the prevalence of children, religion, runners, and squirrels...

Writing stories as opposed to longer works feels, to me, more like sculpting. I’ll pare down as much as possible, slowly chipping away what’s not needed over ten or more revisions. Can you tell us a little about your own approach to composition.

I tend to write the first draft quickly, maybe in a few hours, and often by hand. I may have a character or situation in my head, but no idea of plot or ending. It feels like flying: a joy, but panicky. And for me it doesn’t happen predictably or often. As Sylvia Plath says,

Miracles occur.

If you care to call those spasmodic

Tricks of radiance

Miracles. The wait's begun again,

The long wait for the angel,

For that rare, random descent.

When the story is down, I settle into the more mundane, but enjoyable and satisfying stage: editing. I lose myself in considering every line, reflecting on every comma. I’m embarrassed to say how many times I rewrite. It goes on for weeks – years, sometimes – but feels like a meditation, so I suppose it’s okay and not a symptom of something.

After the euphoria of publication I found it difficult to maintain good writerly habits, at least initially. I wondered if you experienced a similar slump with the distraction of publicity, the sense of, I’ve reached my goal: what now?

Ten weeks after publication, I feel empty of creativity. After so many months editing the collection, I launch into edit mode before I’ve even got a story down, and this is inhibiting. Also I’m busy at work just now. But there is a time for everything, a natural ebb and flow. I just have to hang on for the return of the angel.

Thanks, Tom. I loved The Method and have great expectations for its success.

Thank you for stopping by, Jo. Insignificant Gestures is a wonderfully accomplished collection.

Jo's website can be found here.

Which book...

2011-02-01T09:53:00.000Z

a) would you rescue first in a fire?
b) was your ‘first love’?
c) didn’t live up to your expectations?
d) do you wish you’d written?
e) would you want to be the last you ever read?

Review: Schopenhauer’s Telescope

2011-01-28T16:21:00.008Z

I was slow coming to Gerard Donovan’s first novel, having read and loved his third two years ago. Julius Winsome had, for me, the air of a classic fable, spellbinding me with its poetic and elegiac prose, and at no expense to a highly compelling, dramatic narrative. I remain both excited and nervous to see how it’s adapted for the screen.

And so on finding a book I regarded as one of the best I’ve read in recent years, it would seem natural to seek out the rest of Donovan’s oeuvre. And yet I didn’t. To do so somehow felt like risking the adulteration of my first experience of the author. What if it wasn’t as good? How could it be as good?

Of course this was only going to last so long.

Schopenhauer’s Telescope is a very different book. Or so I initially thought. But as the story unfurls, the bleak, unforgiving wintry landscape, the writer’s poignant, elegant language began to evoke the former. Both are meditations on violence, on human evils and cruelty, on love. Both transport you to otherworldly landscapes, temporarily allowing the illusion that their harrowing events are separate from your own world, your own capabilities.

So, what of the plot? An unnamed baker digging a hole, Sisyphean-like, in a frozen field strikes up a conversation with a teacher, who watches condemningly from above. And, well, that’s about it narrative-wise, at least for now. I imagine there are few writers who can bestow such limited action with the breathless pace of a thriller, the oblique clues and allusions that compel the reader forward, woven seamlessly in. A philosophical dialogue ensues between the two men - on war, genocide, the nature of evil - and Donovan employs a myriad of styles to slowly peel back the layers of this harrowing story.

The characters’ motivations, their stakes and immediate histories, are revealed gradually, and only fully at the end, which, perhaps deliberately, invites the reader, to their cost, to judge them prematurely. Truth is never absolute, especially in times of war, and Donovan exploits this expertly.

There is much surrealism and playfulness here, absent in Winsome, but this only serves to make the brewing sinister denouement more powerful.

If you’re looking for an easy read, this isn’t always it, especially the first hundred or so pages. But stick in there as the journey is rewarded more than amply.

Novels that have something to say, books with ideas and great intellect, that exceed mere entertainment and story-telling, are often forced to compromise on narrative drive, especially when set over one afternoon. Not Donovan’s.

Booker longlisted, Schopenhauer’s Telescope is a more ambitious and accomplished novel than many that have won the prize.

WRITING TIP #77

2011-01-27T12:09:00.002Z

Treat success and failure as the impostors they are. The rejections are probably not as bad as you think, the acceptances not as good. You are playing a long game; it’s not a sprint. Build up a body of work that can’t be ignored. Aim to be a stronger writer with each project you embark on. Dismiss rejection (even though it may be deserved), and briefly enjoy publication. But then move on and write something else. Remember: writers write.

WHAT DID I SAY?

2011-01-20T19:24:00.004Z

If you're reading this, then you're not in China. How can I be so sure? A travelling friend has just advised me this blog is banned there. It's hardly a fatwa, but still carries its share of kudos, I suppose.

CREATIVE WRITING ANYONE?

2011-01-17T10:04:00.000Z

There’s a great discussion on that ubiquitous debate of whether you can teach people to write over at Elizabeth Baines’ blog. Some interesting thoughts from Sue Gee and Marcel Theroux (click on the links) and the chance to ask them some questions. What are you waiting for?

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

2011-01-14T13:34:00.016Z

Short FICTION is now accepting entries for its 5th Annual Short Story Competition. First prize is £500, the winner chosen by award-winning Irish writer Gerard Donovan. Donovan is the author of three novels, including the much-lauded Julius Winsome, the Booker long-listed Schopenhauer's Telescope, and the story collection Country of the Grand.

You can submit up to 2 stories for £10, which also gets you a copy of the journal, effectively making entry free! Word limit is 6,000 and the closing date is 31st March 2011. All competition entries will be considered for publication. The winner will be announced on the website no later than 1st May 2011. Please note we invite stories from writers at any stage of their career. Click HERE to enter. Good luck.

Short FICTION is an annual literary journal featuring some of the best stories from around the world. Some names are long celebrated, others we'll take credit for as our discovery.

Each writer's work is illustrated and presented within its own chapbook.

Contributing editors include Ali Smith, Toby Litt, Helen Oyeyemi, Mike McCormack and Gerard Donovan.

Previous issues include stories by Kevin Barry, Luke Kennard, Julian Gough, Ioan Grosan, Martina Warner and Phillip Ó Ceallaigh.

SCOTT PRIZE WINNERS IN DISCUSSION (PART 3)

2011-01-10T08:50:00.004Z

This blog is literally a toddler now: two years old today. So pull up a chair, have some cake, and enjoy the final part of our discussion on the short story. (Scroll down if you want to pick up the thread.)

Patrick Holland
Tom, you’ve cut to the very heart of the matter with your singing/hard-working sentence question. The best justification I can give for the sentence you refer to is that it is plain truth. ‘Irene’ of the story is made of a little girl, and friend of my young sister’s, who was killed in a creek that ran through my family’s land. Whenever I deal with a plain truth like that, whenever I’m given it, I feel the best way to treat it is to add nothing whatsoever of myself. Just lay it down like testimony, like a circle of stones.

On this, I move increasingly toward minimalism and the broad precepts of Eastern instrumental art (especially Orthodox Ikons) versus Western expressionist art. The move toward minimalism was inspired as much by composer Arvo Pärt as any writer, and is a response to the need for simplicity in a world of increasing complexity. The desire for instrumental art? Perhaps a response to the cult of the self in the 21st C… our media ceaselessly advises us to ‘express ourselves’, and I can’t count the amount of advertisements that use a variation of ‘you deserve it’ as part of their pitch. One of my great prayers is that I don’t get what I deserve. The chief result I see of new communication technologies is that we are able to spread inanities much faster and in greater volume than ever before. If everyone expresses themselves constantly, you do not get communication, you get noise. I’ve never understood ‘writer’s block’. On the day I don’t have anything to write I’ll very happily put away the pencil. And I don’t much wish to impose myself on anyone else for such a sustained period as book necessitates – if I can’t channel somthing larger than me, I think I shouldn’t bother. There is, of course, a paradox here, and this touches on your question on themes, Susannah… that the artistic product is often a response to some personal crisis, and bears the marks of this, as I’ve explained is the case in ‘The Source of the Sound’. This was true, also, of Ikon painters, who wanted to express a particular devotion. I suppose, as Tom suggested, there is something universal about what is personal, and something personal about the universal (just as looking at the night sky has the ability to make us feel small and yet part of something immense at once).

I’m pleased to hear both of you say The Source of the Sound had you slowing down… this is one of the effects I hope my prose will have, the same effect I get when sitting in a forest or upon a vast plain, that time is slowing down. This is a creative and regenerative space, I think. Again, it’s a response to the fact that the world of the 21st C is always hurrying us up, to what end and where we scarcely have time to question. And you’re right, it is different to ‘entertainment’ literature. I rarely try to entertain, not that I’ve got anything against entertainment, but in our society it has usurped its proper place. We are, both literally and metaphorically dying of our leisure. It would be irresponsible for any true writer to give more whipped cream to a public dying of obesity. And for the record, Tom, I’ve never thought of comedy as inevitably relegated to the realm of entertainment: great comedy, as you well know, can work on us as profoundly as anything else – we need only think of Don Quixote.

On style, the way I write certainly isn’t the Australian idiom: it comes, I suppose, from the above aesthetic and philosophical concerns and from a host of odd influences, from Pärt to Isaiah, Kipling and photographer Roni Horn. Rhythmically, I desire a constant, quiet beat, interrupted by moments of violence or breathlessness. Something like the Georgian composer Giya Kancheli.

Now, Susannah, before we read each other’s work you mentioned ‘Life Pirates’ as one of your favourites, but qualified this by saying that it might be ‘a bit girly’. It is certainly ‘girly’, if that means concerned with female sexuality and motherhood. And yet, it did not bare the slightest resemblance to any ‘chick lit’ or work of feminism I’ve ever seen. At every point that a reader with a model in mind might have said ‘here we go’, there we didn’t go, instead you take the reader into ever stranger and more beautiful places as the story unfolds. So I want to ask you, to what extent are stories like this autobiographical (I ask this as these characters and events seem so unlike any others I’ve come across that they almost can’t be completely made up); and further, to what extent do you believe a story like this – infused with a good deal of pain – can do the work of healing.

Susannah Rickards
I am extremely interested in the degree to which music informs your writing, Patrick. It is almost kinaesthetic. I can’t equate music and language so closely. I can only reach music (which seems to me the purest art form in that it is the only one where representation is almost inaccessible) through the emotional response to it. That you can make words of the music you hear is compelling.

Just want to clarify – 'Life Pirates' is far from one of my favourite stories. I come close to disliking it but it had such a favourable response from readers I trust that it went into the book. What is autobiography? I’ve never had a bath in an alcoholic’s flat following a haemorrhage. But I have bought a sickly tree against advice and planted it in memory of a dead child. (Years later, it still flourishes.) There is no small Hopkins museum in Lancashire as far as I know. But he is one of my favourite poets and I’d been reading him solidly in the days before I drafted this, without any intention of writing about him. About half way through the draft I became conscious of Davy as a modern Good Samaritan and realised the story was my first foray into writing about faith, heftily disguised behind human fallibility.

As to stories healing – well, that’s one reason why I read so many of them. They work. They do the jobs of giving companionship when none is at hand, of advising and releasing and generally creating a sense of forgiveness and accord. Good art shakes us up. Great art is salve, perhaps.

Tom Vowler
I thought we might finish off touching on process. I’m always intrigued how other writers work, the hours they keep, their accoutrements. For me, short fiction tends to be composed differently to other forms, such as the novel. The latter might see me yield several thousand words on a good day, scribbled masses, often incoherent, requiring endless revision. With a story, though, I’m far more diligent, crafting with more precision. Rewrites may still number in the tens, but there’s more a sense of sculpting, of fine-tuning, than wholesale change. I certainly find stories the hardest and most rewarding to write.

I prefer a balance of writing new material and revising old during the day. The old maxim of leaving an idea, a scene or sentence, unfinished helps me begin the following day. Reading work aloud is important to me, which perhaps taps into all we’ve said of cadence and muscularity of prose. I have to hear the words if they’re ever going to sing.

And you two?

PH
I’m a blue-collar worker. When I’m able, I’ll get up early, work till lunch… then walk/rest/do something manual, then I’ll start again at seven at night and go till midnight or thereabouts, often with the aid of whisky (probably not going to get invited to any schools on the back of that). My tools of choice are a fine-tip blue pen and art paper (no lines), though I make a big job for myself when it comes time to decipher my scrawl and put it on computer.

When stories come, they tend to come in a flurry, maybe three or four at a time, all tied by theme. And, like you Tom, I’ll generally revise a piece ten times or more. The thing I like about short stories is that they can be written in one sitting, and I always try to do this, so you can keep better rein on them than you can a novel.

Like everyone else, I cherish those times when there are days ahead of nothing but writing, and envy the rich and famous of our trade who have this always; but at the same time, the neccesity I have to work, at least six months in the year, working with horses and cattle and teaching in various countries, like China and Vietnam, provides fuel for my writing, and, as Hemingway said, I’d rather have the instrument I write with dulled and blunt from disuse and have to grind it into shape each time I have something to write, than have it sharp and polished and nothing to say.

SR
Patrick, you and Hemingway put that beautifully.

My writing day is dictated by other demands – raising children and earning money. I find this helps, as it structures the time. On a roll, I get up at 5am and write for a couple of hours before school, then, if I’m not at work that day, I write through until it’s time to collect them. If it’s a work day I put in an hour or so after they’ve gone to bed. There can be long periods of time when work and family life prevents any writing at all. I used to feel guilty about that, as though it were my artistic duty to create more hours in each day. I’m far more attuned to it now. When I can, I write. There are plenty of opportunities, if not throughout a week, then throughout a year.

I always start on paper and then either type up what I have and finish the story on computer or work the second draft as it’s being keyed into the computer. But I also work with an online group of short fiction writers. Once a month we write from dawn till dusk online. At times this produces six rough drafts in one day, which can be worked up over the following weeks.

My thanks to Patrick and Susannah for giving us this fascinating insight into their work. I urge fans of the short story to read their brilliant collections (links in Part 1). And non-fans, do the same for instant conversion. Right, ice cream and jelly anyone?

SCOTT PRIZE WINNERS IN DISCUSSION (PART 2)

2011-01-07T14:04:00.003Z

Part 1 is below if you want to pick up the thread.

Tom Vowler
As for inspiration, yes I am often drawn to disturbed narrators, stories peopled by desperate characters who barely manage to conceal this beneath a ‘veneer of normality’. Loss certain themes heavily in my collection, as does the past with its inexorable grip on the present. Again, though, I’m not wholly aware of themes during composition; I just think our own primordial swamp seeps up into the prose regardless.

Interesting that we all value giving the reader space in our work. I always resist (overt) flags, or force-feeding the story to someone. It’s a fine line, not becoming too arcane so as to frustrate, but respecting the reader enough to allow them room within the story is important for me.

Susannah, you’ve mentioned some of the work that inspires you; are there themes/ideas you’re conscious of weaving into your stories? Or perhaps like me they seep in almost unconsciously…

Susannah Rickards
What I take from the authors I admire is their outlook on life. There is a humane, unstinting examination of how we behave towards others and ourselves, and this frankness is backed up by wit in all the authors I admire. I read them and think: kin. Like they’re of the same tribe. What they succeed at is what I am aiming for too, not because I like their work. I like it because it chimes. That way round.

Consciously I set out not with themes but with events. But they pretty quickly shift to character. I’m not interested in writing about Big Ideas as theories. I prefer to find them in small places. Human activity is endlessly fascinating. It supplies everything I want to examine as a writer.

I admire authors who successfully lead with theme. My work becomes mechanical when I try to, as an exercise. I do aim for a certain revelation. I am fascinated by self deceit, by the gap between who we are and who we think we are; by what people are said to be doing and what they actually do. I got this from your work too Tom. ‘Busy.Come.Wait.’ The daughter’s insistent emotional blindness to the parity between her parents. That chimes exactly, for me.

So – a question for you: how do you make human failing resonant? What lifts it beyond a mere Slice o’ life?

TV
It’s a good question. As a reader I find a story more powerful if it illuminates some small truth I recognise, or understand, but I suppose this need not be specific. Take two stories I find extraordinary in their effect and affect: James Salter’s ‘Last Night’ and Shirley Jackson’s ‘The Lottery’. I certainly have no direct experience of the horror, the sudden brutal ‘reveals’ to occur in either, yet I connect with them on a human level. So perhaps failings are metaphors for each other, mirroring existential concerns we all share.

I want to mention language. Susannah, you spoke of the story bridging the gap between the novel and the poem. How the cadence and density of the latter is evoked. For me, I know I’m reading something special when I forget I’m reading. When the words sing. In particular when a sentence forces me back to its beginning, desperate as I am to hear it again. Take the following two, the first yours, the second Patrick’s:

‘It happens just as she predicts, and though she is glad they are rapt in this tumbling and hooting, a chill runs through her that she has such control over them, such knowledge of them, that she could predict to the quarter second when they would peel themselves from the radiator as they did and cavort.’

‘Not many weeks later she would be killed by a man who could not bear her beauty.’

So, to you both: how do you know when a sentence is working as hard as it can? When, as with these examples, the words are singing?

SR
I’m taken by your idea that failings are metaphors for each other. Can the same be said of positive action in a story?

That sentence from Patrick’s story shook me too. It felt, briefly, like a line from another author, another prose style, grotesquely intrusive on the meditative voice that had gone before. Such news should jar. How to achieve this syntactically is a challenge.

Was this conscious on your part, Patrick? (I’m not being disingenuous here – it’s clear you are meticulous. I’m asking if that discord of style was a choice or a result of the simple task of bringing such news into so tender a story?)

Tom, for me, when a sentence is singing I feel it physically – a warmth in the muscles, like the second stage of going for a run, after the stiffness and pain, when that ease kicks in. That probably sounds pretentious, but it’s just factual. It’s a physical response to the words, maybe born of relief. When they join together well, you can relinquish responsibility for them.

I’m interested to know how you both tackle theme, so a question for you both – is it an overt starting point, or something that you recognise once an amount of work is out on paper?

And some for you Patrick, specifically: when I started to read your work I stumbled and had to slow right down, as though I were reading a foreign language in which I was not wholly fluent. I appreciated the way the prose demanded to be read attentively and slowly. I have some frustration with instant snack-effect short fiction, there’s a lot on-line, and your work seems the antithesis of that.

When I examined your syntax and vocabulary nothing was convoluted, everything was lucid, and I’m still wondering exactly how you achieve that gear change in the reader. Tom too said he had to slow down, mentioned the cadence as reason. I wonder if it is an Australian cadence. I must confess ignorance of short fiction by other contemporary Australian writers. We’re used to American and UK timbres perhaps. Who are your influences? And what’s driving the musicality of your prose? What are you after, rhythmically?

Part 3 soon.

SCOTT PRIZE WINNERS IN DISCUSSION (PART 1)

2011-01-05T17:23:00.006Z

Three for the price of one to kick us off in the New Year. Myself and fellow Scott Prize winners Susannah Rickards and Patrick Holland got together for a discussion on, among other things, the short story and what it means to us. Having read both Susannah’s and Patrick’s collections, I have to say they are stunning achievements and I’m honoured to have my own book forever associated with theirs. It’s an involved conversation so I’ll post it in three parts.

Patrick Holland
When, like me, you are aware of the prejudices facing story collections – I say ‘aware’ rather than ‘understand’ because I don’t understand them – why do you write short stories?

Tom Vowler
This is a simple one for me. As ‘artists’ I think we’re drawn to the medium that excites us most, that rouses us in the morning, or the middle of the night, desperate to emulate what’s gone before us. I came to short fiction relatively late, just a few years ago. But already some of the great stories I’ve read have left their mark, emblazoned across my literary consciousness, more than some of my favourite novels, which is a statement I’d have found remarkable and fanciful in the past. I think like many people, I believed stories were something that novelists did on occasion, by way of experiment or vanity. That they were a bit of fun. And then I read Chekhov, Carver, Updike, Oates, Trevor, Munro et al and realised what was possible. So falling in love with the short story was the start. Prejudices soon became irrelevant as I set out on this wonderful journey of reading the best short fiction out there and trying to match it.

PH
Tom, I agree – at the end of the day, what keeps you going is the love of the thing. At times friends have asked me, why don’t you write something ‘popular’ “just to set you up”. And I suppose it would be easy enough: pick a war to give super-significance to the drama, get some tv soap plot twists, drop tags at the end of chapters like “but he was not all he seemed” or “if only she knew that that decision would change her life forever”… but the problem would be waking up each morning and getting the job done. How to find the energy? For me, writing is an attempt to understand the world I live in and our relationship with the cosmos. Lately, I try to understand the built environment of supermodernity and the losses it imposes. ‘The Source of the Sound’ is an attempt to come to terms with the loss of a loved one; ‘Integrity’ tries to come to terms with loss of landscape, and ‘The Passenger’ attempts to crystalise the tragedy of losing time.

Interesting to hear your influences, especially since your writing reminds me of almost no other writer I know besides, perhaps, John Cheever. My influences are quite different: Barry Lopez, Hemingway, Juliana Horatio Ewing, Yasunari Kawabata, Graham Greene and, more than any other, Kipling. While we wait for Susannah’s response, and while on the topic of inspiration, I have a question… ‘The Method’ is one of the funniest things I’ve ever read in my life, what inspired it – a real life exchange with a publisher, perhaps? Also, I’ve written comedy before – the Australian critics were very mixed about how successfully – but the stories in The Source of the Sound are, I think, all of a stylistic and thematic type… was it difficult to go from the high comedy of ‘The Method’ to a story like ‘The Last Supper’, which is so dark as to be troubling, and perhaps my favourite of your stories, ‘Seeing Anyone?’ with its exquisite sadness?

TV
I suppose ‘The Method’ is darkly comic, though I didn’t set out to write a funny story. I’d been listening to an interview with the boxer Barry McGuigan, how he trained Daniel Day Lewis for three years for a role. McGuigan said that at the end of this period, with the exception of the top few middle-weights in the country, Day Lewis could compete with, and likely beat, anyone. I found this staggering, the lengths an actor would go to when researching a part. And it seemed natural to extend this obsessive approach to a ridiculous degree. I’ve read ‘The Method’ to a few audiences, and someone usually asks whether it’s autobiographical, whether I’ve researched the research, as it were, which makes me chuckle, given its depraved and salacious nature. Actually, for one scene I did ask a friend to punch me hard, so I could describe it. We were drunk and, annoyingly, he did.

But, yes, I suppose thematically the collection is often disparate. I didn’t find this difficult: the stories tended to find their own tone, perhaps born from the mood I was in during composition.

Interesting point you make about coming to terms with things, of seeking understanding through the prose. Is the act of writing somehow cathartic for you? That is, might you use a story to make sense of a personal rather than an abstract matter?

The stories in The Source of the Sound are quite beautiful. I found myself slowing down as I read, savouring the cadence as much as the semantics of the words, much as I would a poem. The recurring motifs of light and sound anchored me in these wonderful, but often bleak, worlds you’ve created. Indeed, the stories are often grounded in a profound sense of place; I wondered if setting was often where you began.

PH
Writing is something of a cathartic exercise for me, certainly; and also an attempt to isolate signs of grace in the world, and give them space to breathe. This, as you’ve suggested, doesn’t mean that things always turn out rosy. No man or woman escapes their cross – dig a little and it’s there: so the alcoholism, the prostitution, the addictions and untimely losses the people in my book endure. If nothing else goes wrong in your life, you will suffer the deaths of certain of your loved ones, which produces the keenest pain it is possible to feel. For me, writing, and story-telling, are ways to come to terms with pain and fear, by finding threads of order in apparent chaos.

Place, as you’ve suggested, is vital to the stories – and understanding place is another way to see your way out of chaos and pain, as it brings you close to the deepest creative order. Understanding the built environment makes visible the way humans can destroy the essential order by disrespecting or ignoring it – urban sprawl, with its disregard for community, farming and wilderness, is an example. But somehow – perhaps I’ve been lucky – I’ve always found wilderness, sacred places and beloved human habitats where I can go to reconstitute myself.

I think everyone, over the course of a life, puts together their own map of sacred places, which might not make immediate sense to anyone else who viewed the map: places like a window looking onto a quiet street, or an unremarkable plain… places where significant things have happened, or significant thoughts have come, or places that seem important for mysterious reasons. I have spent hours on the plain described in the story ‘Integrity’ for no reason I really knew, and I know not everyone who saw it would accept my justification that it is beautiful. Such places are often starting points for stories. ‘The City Lost to Heaven’, for instance, is very much a product of my nostalgia for certain locales of Beijing.

Now, how about yourself? It seems it’s urban and suburban landscape, and the people that inhabit those, that inspires you, which is what made me think of Cheever when I read The Method. I’m thinking of a veneer of normality that is soon and profoundly punctured by dark comedy, violence and desperation in stories like ‘The Games They Play’ (you may have penned the best story ever written about swingers there). Am I right in taking this view?

Secondly, leaving a kind of narrative silence in my writing, a space for the reader to cross and come to the work on his or her own terms, is something I’ve been conscious of doing lately, and I sensed it too in that remarkable story ‘The Little Man’ – to what extent do you believe a story should be ‘open’, that is, refuse to put flags up and announce the author’s intentions?

Susannah Rickards
May I jump in by replying to Patrick’s opening question? Like Tom, short fiction is what I read and rate most highly. I love the intensity, or density of language in a poem, and the scope of story that novels possess. The short story connects the two. And I love the form’s ripple effect – that they may only take half an hour to read but stay with you for years – revisiting the mind, replaying themselves in different lights. They change. It’s the greed of a reader who also writes, maybe, to enjoy the space a short story provides for the reader to embellish.

Then, as a writer, I try to do for others as the short fiction authors I most admire have done for me: just open the door a chink onto another world and let the reader do the rest. Providing those open spaces you mention in your most recent post Patrick is something I consciously aim for and something I prize in short fiction. Fitzgerald does it, Carver, Munro, Tobias Wolff and Kyle Minor. Then again, I love the mental tracking of character that authors like Stephen Dixon of David Foster Wallace explore – that rhythmic grasp of how a mind flits and tussles and returns to its obsessions.

There’s an intensity to the quality of the prose I most admire that is most effective in small doses.

Part 2 soon.

Adieu 2010

2010-12-16T16:46:00.007Z

Well, that year rather flashed by. If you have any tips on how to slow down time – as in bona fide, physics-based sleights of hand, rather than any New Age guff – please let me know. As years go it was a good un, surreal at times, perhaps typified by finding myself on this list with some heavyweights of fiction. And Kate Bush.

So, looking back, what books made an impression on me? Fewer than normal, I’d say, but then there was less time for reading for pleasure than I’d have liked. Seven hundred or so short stories were appraised, some of which were quite good. And I found myself listening to more stories than before. But as novels went, those I enjoyed the most were from years gone by.

And so given how much time is still required on the novel, and how little shopping for gifts I’ve done, I’m just gonna mention three.

Part fable, part allegory this ambitious, original novel won me over with its assured, unsettling voice and elegance.

The language here is so beautifully lyrical, the story so haunting and compelling, were it not for the ending (which I know riles some people), I’d have regarded this as great rather than very good.

Shriver’s retrospective and chilling narrative isn’t, I’m sure, for everyone, but I found it a remarkable achievement, and probably tips it for my book of the year.

Well, that’s ya lot for 2010. Have a jolly festive time, whatever you're doing, and I hope to see you on the other side.

NO ROOM FOR INTEGRITY

2010-12-11T17:25:00.003Z

I did a festive-themed interview over at Vulpes Libris the other day where I talk about the loneliness of writing, the thievery of words and pulling crackers with the cat.

A quick update on the novel. It’s had some interest, but with the requisite some changes are made. Now, I could stamp my artistic feet, profess such tinkering would usurp my integrity too much and refuse to make them. Or I could just get on and do it. Which I have been. Mostly. Sometimes you have to listen to Them What Know. I can already see that the book is stronger, but there’s still some way to go. It’s an extraordinarily demanding task at times. For example, I removed one small piece of information from a character, which involved revising every time she mentions it across the story. And have you ever tried culling a character from 300 pages?

Anyway, it’s all good, especially as Them What Know have called it a classy psychological thriller. I’d no idea. Classy, yes – er-hum. But a thriller? Next I’ll be penning cheap hooks at the end of each chapter. Oh well. It’s still a literary thriller as far as I’m concerned.

I wanted to mention my book of the year, but it’s proving rather difficult. And not due to a plethora of contenders. I’ve read some stunning short fiction in 2010, but no stand out novel. One or two threatened, before wilting tamely in the last 50 pages. I’ll have to see.

Well, I hope you are hunkering down nicely for the holidays, that your glasses are full and Santa brings you some wonderful reading. Here's one of the less nauseating festive songs.

SHORT FICTION 4

2010-12-04T21:50:00.007Z

I am pleased to say that Short Fiction 4 is out now. This special issue, dedicated to the long story, features new work by Martina Warner and Francis King, as well as novellas by Richard Lea and Raha Namy. The stories take us around the world, from New Orleans to Shanghai, Indonesia to the Leeward Islands of the Carribean. As ever, our visual literary journal leads into stories with illustrations, whilst celebrated painter of Cornwall, Gill Watkiss, provides our cover, motifs throughout, and shows new work in a full-colour 16 page feature.

There were some 600 stories submitted this year, and, having read them all for the shortlist, I think this could be the strongest issue yet. Mind, I say that each year.

You can order a copy here.

And look out for the Short Fiction Writers Competition 2011, which is accepting entries between January 1st and March 31st. The first prize is £500 plus publication, with award-winning Irish writer Gerard Donovan as our guest judge. What’s more, you can submit two stories for £10, which also gets you a copy of the journal, effectively making entry free.

THE ART OF DISTRACTION

2010-11-30T21:36:00.003Z

This took about an hour to make. Much fun. Time much better spent writing.

QUALIFIED AS A WRITER

2010-11-27T09:00:00.003Z

Another lovely guest today. Please welcome author Jenn Ashworth, who talks about that moment you regard yourself a real writer, posh biscuits and getting drunk at literary festivals (something I never do. Ever). And while she's guesting here, I'm over at her excellent blog today (see below), so pop over and have a look. Over to you, Jenn...

When we were talking about guest posting for each other, Tom mentioned, off hand, how fascinated he was by the idea that there was a moment when a person changed – as if by magic – from a hobbyist or a hopeful into a writer. It made me look back over my ‘career’ so far and consider if there had been such a moment, when would it have been?

On publication day? The day A Kind of Intimacy was published passed like any other. I got a phone call from my agent and a box of chocolates from Arcadia. I shambled about the house in my slippers expecting to feel different, but didn’t, not really.

So how about further back? The day I found out A Kind of Intimacy was going to be published? That certainly helped. The writers amongst you will know how daft you feel and how oddly people look at you when you say you’re going home early to work on your book. Only nutters write books. It suddenly helped when I could say yes, it’s a real book, and someone wants to publish it.

Except I didn’t say that. I treated it like a pregnancy and kept it secret for four months, too shocked and disbelieving to tell anyone apart from my nearest and dearest, who, not being writers, were unimpressed. I celebrated by buying posh biscuits and rose scented tea.

Maybe then, it was the first major festival I appeared at. Getting (shamefully) drunk in the Writers’ Yurt at Edinburgh, seeing lots of Famous People and reading my book in front of a small but sympathetic and interested audience. Yes, I felt like a writer then, but not a real one. The other writers had such better shoes, such longer queues at their book signings, such well prepared readings and more erudite answers to the questions asked afterwards.

Festivals are lessons in inadequacy.

Moving forwards a bit. I can think of some formative moments. Being asked to contribute to magazines and anthologies made a difference from being rejected from them.

Refusing to work for free was really important. Being able to call it work, at all, without feeling guilty was even more important. Realising I am in charge of paying the rent for my family and I can do it by doing what I wanted to do when I was little. That was massive. Huge.

Although having said that, I celebrated a respectable advance for my second novel, Cold Light, by buying a pedal bin. So perhaps there’s no hope for me at all.

Winning a Betty Trask earlier this year should have been a watershed moment. I’m not too proud to admit that collecting a prize was something I’d fantasised about for years. There’d be shoes, haircut, fancy cocktails with umbrellas. All sorts.

The fantasy did not involve having to stay at home, pregnant as a gravid whale, prescribed bed-rest and crunching through a packet of sherbet lemons in frustrated, tearful rage. I bought a special maternity going-out dress that remains, unworn, in my wardrobe.

Still, this blog post is not intended to be a thinly-veiled litany of the accomplishments of my books so far. Perhaps it is enough to realise that writers (in the slightly paraphrased words of Stephen King) put their trousers on one leg at a time, forget to pay the gas bill and have to do the Hoovering just like everyone else. Having-written does not make life any different. I promise.

When you are working, you are being a writer and the feeling of typing, alone, late at night or early in the morning, in your car during your lunch break, on the nursery floor while the baby sleeps, whenever you do the making of the story - that is where the magic is. At your desk, on your keyboard, at the end of your pencil. Nowhere else.

Being immersed in the story and pleased with what you’ve done is the same no matter how far along the path of publication and prizes you are. You dream about fancy cocktails, you get sherbet lemons, and you make lemonade. And you write, and cross it out, and you write. And just like always, just like everyone else, you wake up the next morning, read back what you wrote the night before and wonder: what was I thinking? And you Hoover. The magic is rolling up your sleeves and attacking it again every day. Despite everything.

And I bet most of you reading this already do that. So you are writers.

Yes, I know that is easy for me to say. But it is also a true fact.

Jenn Ashworth wrote A Kind of Intimacy which was published in 2009 when she was 26 and won a Betty Trask award shortly after. Cold Light, her second novel, is out with Sceptre in 2011. People have suddenly stopped referring to her as a 'young' writer, which is worrying. She writes an award-winning blog and lives in Preston, Lancashire, with her daughter, her husband and their son. And two cats.

JONATHAN'S PICKS

2010-11-23T09:19:00.006Z

Special treat today. I couldn’t leave you with only my book as a festive recommendation, so I asked super-talented Jonathan Lee to tell us about five books he’s enjoyed this year. And, fortunately for us, he did.

ALL MY FRIENDS ARE SUPERHEROES by Andrew Kaufman

This is a small, perfect little book that is fast-becoming a word-of-mouth classic. Despite being ignored by all of the mainstream reviewers, it has found champions in the likes of Scott Pack's influential 'Me and my big mouth' blog and sites such as pulp.net. I'd call it a love story, but that might give you the wrong idea. It's unusual, inventive, cliche-free, funny and - at a mere 108 pages - a blissfully enjoyable train-journey of a book.

YOU'RE AN ANIMAL VISCOVITZ by Alessandro Boffa

A perfectly judged short story collection. If I were a bad critic who fell back on lazy cliches (which I am) I'd call it 'laugh out loud funny'. Full of great ideas and lovely sentences. In each story, Viscovitz is a different animal. One minute he’s a love-struck cuckoo, the next he’s a chameleon suffering from an identity crisis. It’s a clever, poignant, playful book that deserves a wider readership.

LET THE GREAT WORLD SPIN by Colum McCann

My second novel is going to contain a number of competing voices propelling the central narrative, and as part of my preparation I've been digging through as many novels as possible that use clashing perspectives to interesting effect. This is one of the best of them. The still centre of the book is Philippe Petit’s breathless 1974 tightrope walk between the uncompleted twin towers. Spinning out from that centre are the lives of various New Yorkers, each with their own sadnesses and ambitions, told in a mix of engaging first and third person narratives. I like the way McCann resisted the temptation to force too many links and neat parallels between the stories - the book's looseness of form gives it a truth many '9/11' novels haven't managed.

HARPER REGAN by Simon Stephens

A play that I've sadly yet to see performed (I missed the 2008 National Theatre run), but recently read with great enthusiasm. In her late forties, Harper Regan suddenly leaves her family in the suburbs of West London and sets off on a mission to see her father before he dies. Her journey allows the author to explore the humour and sadnesses inherent in sex, death and love. Just when you think you know a character, have managed to flatten them into a nice little two dimensional summary in your own head, they do something unexpected. I think great plays have to have qualities which many novels don't - the action and the dialogue has to be so sharp and focussed as to withstand the scrutiny of being read or viewed in one sitting. Stephens is a very exciting writer and his new play, Wastwater (coming to the Royal Court in March) promises to be deeply interesting.

HER NAKED SKIN by Rebecca Lenkiewicz

Another play, this one exploring militancy at the height of the suffragette Movement, with thousands of women from different walks of life serving time in Holloway Prison for their attempts to win the right to vote. There are some beautifully wry, zinging lines of dialogue: "Love is just fear I suppose. Masquerading as a fever. Then you explore each other and suddenly you have licence to become totally pedestrian. And ultimately abusive." The thing I love most about the play is the way it conjures a whole universe off stage. You get a real sense of wider society, class war and racial tensions in London, 1913.

Jonathan's first novel, Who Is Mr Satoshi?, is out now with Heinemann. You can find out more at Jonathan’s website and buy a copy here.

IN MOTION'S FOOTSTEPS

2010-11-21T10:08:00.002Z

If you’re, and I realise most of you won’t be, in Devon on Wednesday, I’ll be reading from the collection as part of National Short Story Week. It’s a wonderful venue, a converted church, purchased by a group of poets with lottery funding, overlooking the River Tamar. Andrew Motion was there a couple of weeks ago. I’ll also read from the novel set on Dartmoor, with a Q&A session and discussion on the short story, or anything else of interest that crops up.

The Method… got this lovely write-up on the Short Review, which went some way to ameliorate a flu-ridden week in which a builder delivered, in that inimitably apologetic-yet-gleeful way, news that a new roof was required.

I’ve still a few signed copies here if you’re, er-hum, after a stocking-filler. I can write anything you like inside the cover, as long as it’s not racist or overly sentimental, and postage is free (UK only). There's a clever little button in the toolbar on the left. If you don’t have a paypal account, drop me note.

And so, for one week only, you're only allowed to read short stories. It's the law.

ALL THINGS SHORT AND BEAUTIFUL

2010-11-16T15:57:00.002Z

Next week is National Short Story Week. A few weeks ago I (somewhat mischievously) asked what the greatest story ever written was. Amid debates on parameters, subjectivity, qualification of art, relativity etc…I suspected I’d at least tease out some cracking recommendations. And so, here’s what was mentioned:

The Tell Tale Heart – Edgar Allan Poe

Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge – Ambrose Bierce

Misery – Anton Chekhov

Araby – James Joyce

A Small, Good Thing – Raymond Carver

People Like That Are The Only People Here – Lorrie Moore

Sister Imelda - Edna O'Brien

A Painful Case – James Joyce

In Dream Begin Responsibility – Delmore Schwartz

Diary of a Madman – Nicolai Gogol

A Day Meant to Do Less – Kyle Minor

Babylon Revisited – F Scott Fitzgerald

The Dead – James Joyce

The Beast in the Jungle – Henry James

Passion – Alice Munro

I’ll add:

The Lottery – Shirley Jackson

Last Night – James Salter

The Room – William Trevor

So, I urge you, next week, in celebration of the short story, to seek out one or two of these. And of course please add your own in the comments below.

ON REJECTION AND ITS DAYS OFF

2010-11-13T08:32:00.006Z

(Recalling hearing I'd won the Scott Prize.)

As a writer, especially an emerging one, it’s important to befriend rejection. You’ll be spending a lot of time together, and, after an initial repulsion and incredulity at its presence, you begin, like an embarrassing illness or an annoying colleague, to accept it. Life would be strange without it. During low points you even expect it, some comfort drawn from its familiarity: Hello rejection, my old friend…

But occasionally, if you’re lucky, the cloud lifts and you remember why you started this in the first place. Not for fame or fortune (just as well). But because you believe you have something to say. That you want your work, your art, to affect others the way great fiction has affected/infected you. And so for this reason you continue to put yourself out there, to submit, to lay yourself open to terse, yet cordial responses: I’m sorry, we like your work but...

Competitions are the worst, because you’re aware of the numbers involved (sometimes thousands). And initially all you want to do is appear on the longlist. That would be enough. But then, once longlisted, if I could just make the shortlist, I would be happy. You keep busy. You self-deprecate. You’re told getting this far is an achievement in itself, just before you throttle the person who’s uttered this sagacious yet inane maxim.

And then, like Schrödinger's cat, you leave the email unopened in your inbox, fearful viewing it alone will alter the outcome. You almost ask someone else to open it, so blame can be shared. You dare to dream, but prepare for the worst.

But even friends as loyal and ubiquitous as rejection have days off.

(Keep going. Knock on enough doors...)

V FOR (A RARE) VICTORY

2010-11-09T14:55:00.005Z

Being a ‘V’ has generally meant missing out: being last on any list at school, that sort of thing. So finding myself next to Kurt Vonnegut in Waterstone’s was no small recompense. When the assistant had gone I moved Virginia Woolf along a little, sandwiching me nicely among greats.

Just to apologise to those who’ve emailed saying either Amazon or the Book Depository have been tardy in delivering The Method to you. It’s a distribution thingy apparently. They’re out of stock for a few days now, until the next print run gets to them, but if this continues I’ll hand deliver one and make you a cuppa, and perhaps bring biscuits. Failing that, I have a few signed copies left (see sidebar), which I suspect fit in festive stockings.

I’ve been delighted, and occasionally overwhelmed, by the wonderful feedback and initial reviews the book’s received. Once the euphoria of publication ebbed away, the issue of how it would be regarded arose, and so far people seem to like it.

Not had a definitive response from the agent about the novel yet, though he did email me half way through to say he was enjoying it. Hopefully if it’s not for him, I’ll still get some feedback.

And so it’s time to turn to the Next Big Thing. Or two things in one, possibly. It’s almost impossible, unless you’re a Zadie or a DBC, to make a living from writing literary fiction alone, and so a job what pays cold hard cash beckons. I’ve loved the small amount of teaching I’ve done so far, but permanent lecturing posts tend to require a doctorate these days. (A book out helps, but is increasingly not enough.) But it happens that the next novel is forming nicely in my mind, that most exciting of phases when everything – characters, setting, era, structure – is all up for grabs, and so a PhD in creative writing seems the next logical step. I must be mad.

Coming soon…The brilliant Jonathan Lee talks about five contemporary novels he loves. The equally fabulous Jenn Ashworth. And the Scott Prize winners discuss the short story.

WRITING TIP #98

2010-11-08T11:49:00.001Z

It’s important, as you develop your skill as a writer, to do so as a reader also. You are not reading someone purely for enjoyment or entertainment anymore; there should be a critical awareness that kicks in from the opening line. What is the writer trying to achieve? Have they succeeded? (You may have to wait until later to answer this.) Why have they used the words they have? Where is the work strongest? Weakest? Find its faults (with one or two exceptions, there will always be some). Start reading as a writer.

DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR FIRST TIME?

2010-11-03T15:00:00.001Z

The Method... got its first proper review here. And although I know Lisa (a little), she promised me no favours. There’s also a chance to win a copy; just leave a comment.

WIN (ANOTHER) BOOK

2010-10-31T16:42:00.001Z

There’s an interview with me over at Nicola Morgan’s brilliant blog, and if you want to win a free signed copy of The Method… all you have to do is leave a comment. What are you waiting for?

SAVOURING THE SHORT STORY

2010-10-29T10:41:00.004+01:00

A lovely little event at my local library on Wednesday, where I read from the collection (a spooky one for Halloween), as well as the novel, which is largely set locally. We had some time at the end, so I was keen to learn the audience’s views on the short story. Love it? Hate it? (Presumably not, given their attendance.) Indifferent? The consensus seemed that most people ‘quite liked them’, but perhaps didn’t go out of their way to find them.

I spoke of short fiction’s intensity, its capacity for transcendency, how it can provoke, thrill, stupefy. I talked about other countries’ relationship with the form, how its revered as much as, if not more so, than the novel, the poem. How it’s largely thought of as inferior in the UK due to our intransigence, our hangover with the Victorian novel. That it’s only really here that when you say you write short stories, the general retort is, So when are you going to write a novel?

I championed Carver, Chekhov, Munro. Salter, Updike, Prouxl. And the master of them all, William Trevor. I raved about the exciting new voices – the Wigfalls, Barrys, Ó Ceallaighs, the Hershmans (not to mention those across the pond, around the globe). And hopefully some of the audience will seek these out.

But I was determined to get to the crux of this issue, so we continued the debate in the pub across the road. (The library shut. Honest.)

And for me, it’s this. With a novel you have to invest just once. In the characters, in tense (usually), setting, POV (usually), in voice, in style, in theme. And then you’re made for the next 300 pages. With a collection you have to do this eight, ten, twelve times. Every story requires this new investment, even if the stories are linked thematically.

My response: savour. The novel is a good pint of beer, to be gorged upon, necked even, long sessions. Think of a short story as your favourite glass of Rioja (though there are plenty of ordinary Merlots out there). Take it by the fire. Just one a night. Savour every word, its cadence and artifice. But, advice I wish I’d heeded on Wednesday: never mix your drinks.

Thoughts?

WRITING TIP #69: HOW TO WRITE SEX

2010-10-25T15:50:00.002+01:00

Don't.

Ever.

And if you absolutely have to. Still don't.

Nobody does it well because it can't be done well.

Unwelcome sex: Yes. Failed sex: Yes. The absence of sex. Yes. Thoughts about sex: Yes.

Actual, detailed I-put-my-hand-on...: No.

Spare us. Hint at it. Show that it happened, reference it obliquely. Just don't try to describe it. Ever

THE INBOX WAITS

2010-10-21T12:00:00.002+01:00

Remember the novel? Not mentioned it for a while. Well, these things rarely happen with alacrity, but a literary agent has asked to read it, so I await his verdict. Hopefully he’ll love it. But even then he has to feel able to place it, to sell it. Anyway, I’ll let you know.

Meanwhile if you’re near my lovely town of Tavistock next Wednesday 27th October, I’m reading from the collection (as well as from the novel) at the library from 7pm. I think tickets are £2, refreshments provided. So do come along.

Also, I’m interviewed by the talent that is Jen Campbell here, and there’s a chance to win a signed copy of The Method.

MASS DEBATE

2010-10-17T10:49:00.006+01:00

I stumbled upon this passage from a 1956 classic in a friend’s bookcase. It’s comic genius, though intended in all sincerity when it was written. See if you can guess what the author is referring to. It could be reading Dan Brown, but it’s not.

'It is not a thing to encourage. In youth it can be dangerous for two reasons. It can cause severe mental conflict when a child finds that he is addicted to it. And it can make a young person very solitary and often sensual and self-indulgent; people used to dealing with the young can usually see, by the slack mouth and shifty eyes, those who suffer from an excess of the habit.

Those lonely people who have fallen into the habit can cure themselves. Avoid idleness; get so busy that you go to bed tired; I have never had a letter from a busy woman, married or single, telling me she is worried about it. It is the idle, shut-in women and men, with all their thoughts and interests turned in on themselves, who fall into the habit.

A simple bromide will often help at bedtime. Even a hot drink with an aspirin tablet is useful. And I have found it useful to suggest rationing to some people. That is, make up your mind to do it, say, twice a week for a month, then once a week, then once a month and by that time you will have acquired a habit of self-control and will probably think that the whole thing is rather silly.

Reading – with a candle rather than strong electric light – is useful too. But don’t have the candle too near the pillow in case you set yourself on fire!'

Thank goodness sex education has progressed.

INTERVIEW: NIK PERRING

2010-10-12T09:00:00.001+01:00

Please welcome short story writer Nik Perring, who's popped by to answer a few questions.

Welcome Nik.
Hi Tom.

What do you write?
I write very short stories. Stories about people who decorate their houses with Post-it notes because there’s something very important to them that they don’t want to forget, and about people who can never stop moving, and about women who vomit animals. And ones about men telling plants their secrets and women who fall in love in supermarket car parks. That kind of thing. Despite that, people seem to like them.

How do you write?
First drafts are always written with a fountain (Pelikan) into a notebook (Moleskine) not because I’m snobby, I should add, but because they work. Writing first drafts longhand also means that they get a very natural half-edit when they’re being typed up. It’s a process I’d recommend. (I’d also recommend reading your work aloud, to yourself, once you think you’re done – you might be surprised at the things that helps you to pick up.)

When do you write?
No specific time. I’m a fulltime writer and editor so I’ll be doing some kind of writing work during normal(ish!) working hours. And at weekends. Or at night. As with any job, it’s important that it’s taken seriously.

Who do you write (for)?
Blimey! Good question. Mostly, I think, I write for me. The theory is that if I enjoy something then others might too. That’s not to say that I don’t give readers a thought – but what I think I do is try and concentrate on telling good stories. People like good stories, so it seems a sensible thing to try to do.

Why do you write?
Probably because it’s the only thing I’m any good at. And because I love it, because it’s what I do. I love making things up and writing them down and I love that people, often, like what I write. Or so they say!

And I think it’s a compulsion too – I’m not sure I know any writers who don’t feel as though they HAVE to write. I think that’s a good thing...!

Thanks, Nik. Good luck with the book.

Nik Perring is a writer, and occasional teacher of writing, from the north west. His short stories have been published widely in places including SmokeLong Quarterly, 3:AM and Word Riot. They’ve also been read at events and on radio, printed on fliers and used as part of a high school distance learning course in the US.

Nik’s debut collection of short stories, NOT SO PERFECT is published by Roast Books and is out now. Nik blogs here and his website’s here. He also offers short story help here.

PUBLISH AND PROBABLY BE DAMNED

2010-10-07T12:32:00.002+01:00

Few things stay the same, the world of publishing being no exception. These are either exciting or uncertain times, depending on your viewpoint. We’re led to believe the future will offer unlimited choice, that the traditional gatekeepers (publishers, increasingly agents) will have little sway in shaping what you see on the shelves, or download (another post altogether). The premise being everything will be published and readers will simply decide with their pockets.

I’m not so sure.

With publishing costs, thanks to POD, tumbling, it’s been possible for years to bypass the conventional route and, be it through self- or vanity publishing, see your magnum opus ‘out there’. But with one or two exceptions these books fair badly. Traditional publishers don’t just produce your book. They place it. They edit it. Market it. Distribute it. They sell it. But most of all they understand what makes a good book, one people want to read. Yes, of course, they miss some, get it wrong sometimes, but I’m not sympathetic to the fatuous conspiracy theory that suggests they relentlessly turn away good books for more commercial ones, though of course they do on occasion. If your work is good enough, though, it will find a home eventually, as long as you’ve had half an eye on that ugly word: the market.

Which is a long-winded way of saying think very carefully before you dismiss the current publishing world, giving your money to the vanity presses to produce an inferior product that’s likely to be stacked high in your garage for years. Of course it's very tempting, especially if the rejection letters themselves are stopping the garage door from closing. But usually such a letter is telling you the book isn't quite good enough yet. Use that knowledge to make it so.

If this is a subject that interests you, I’m sure you already follow Jane Smith’s wonderful blog. In case you don’t, she makes the point much more eloquently than me here.

AND THE WINNER IS...

2010-10-05T11:34:00.003+01:00

Drum roll. The winner is chosen from a mug by friend and potter John Pollex.

Well done, Etta. Let me have your name and address at 'tomvowler at hotmail dot com' and a copy of The Method and Other Stories will be with you shortly.

Thanks to all who entered and left comments. Bad luck if you didn't win this time, but I expect I'll do a few more of these.

WRITING TIP #41

2010-10-03T09:08:00.001+01:00

Remember you’re an observer. Of everything. Anything. You’re after detail, the minutiae that others miss or care little for. Look hard at the two people walking through town: are they a couple? What does their proximity tell you about their relationship? Is it flushed with the euphoria of romantic inception? Or weary as love’s last vestiges barely linger? Put words in their mouths. Give them a narrative.

A FREE BOOK, FOLKS

2010-09-30T11:43:00.008+01:00

So, as promised, here's your chance to win a copy of the prize-winning The Method and Other Stories before its official publication on November 1st. It's had some great initial reviews, none of which I've had to pay or threaten people for.

All you have to do is leave a comment below and next week I'll pick one at random from some hat-like object, the lucky winner getting a free copy sent their way.

If you don't win, you can order one from the sidebar to the left. The cost covers postage and packing.

Good luck.

INTO THE WORLD WE GO

2010-09-27T09:55:00.007+01:00

A few pictures from Tuesday's launch...

About to read, hoping I've not chosen too dark a story.

Book signing. Is that Dan Brown in the foreground, snuck in when nobody was looking?

Laughter, eh? Must be reading a funny one. I hope.

The book's got some wonderful early reviews (thanks, Dad). And to top off a great week, I got engaged as well.

Had a great response for guest bloggers (see below), so watch out for some new faces / voices appearing soon.

As you were.

FANCY A GUEST APPEARANCE?

2010-09-24T11:17:00.002+01:00

If any of you would like to appear here as a guest blogger, you’d be very welcome. All subjects considered, but let’s keep it vaguely literary. Why do you write? What annoys you most about the world of publishing? Will books exist as physical entities in twenty years? Review a novel. Have a rant. Go on, you know you want to.

Drop me a note – tomvowler at hotmail dot com – with your proposal.

THE LAUNCH

2010-09-22T19:53:00.002+01:00

The launch went well. Cricket friends behaved themselves despite barely veiled threats to heckle me from the back as I read. The end of the evening is a bit of a blur.

Once the room stopped spinning this morning, I was delighted to find this review.

I'M A WRITER. NEITHER AM I.

2010-09-20T11:22:00.006+01:00

(Probably) the first two people to buy my collection emailed me the following comments:

‘You’re a twisted f*ck, Vowler.’

and

‘I can definitely recommend it. It is extraordinarily entertaining and expertly written, though not for the faint-hearted!’

I think I prefer the latter, but the former is a dear friend, and, as he’s mentioned in the acknowledgements, can probably say what he likes.

Anyway, I wanted to talk today about nomenclature. Specifically, when do you call/regard yourself a writer. Speaking personally, it’s not something I like doing, even now, with a book out, a novel doing the rounds with publishers. Despite spending an extraordinary proportion of the last five or six years writing fiction, I still wince a little at that middle-class enquiry: So, What Do You Do? Responses to my confession invariably fall into three categories:

1) Awkward silence, foot shuffling, instant mention of football or the weather.

2) (Probably the most common) Oh, I’m writing book too, or at least I’m thinking about it. I’ve got this great idea…followed by a ten minute description of what is definitely not a good idea.

3) (And this is the one, strangely, I’m most uncomfortable with) Genuine interest, a desire to know about the fickle, absurd world that is writing fiction.

I suppose there are so many remarkable endeavours, selfless pursuits that improve the lives of others, that enrich the world (and some, no doubt, would say art attempts to do this). But there’s still something a little pretentious at announcing you’re a writer, perhaps less so if you’re in gainful employment, writing for the BBC or non-fiction. Perhaps, in an attempt to regard it less affected, I should draw on the words of John Irving, when he says, I’m not an intellectual, I’m a carpenter – I build stories.

I’ve been thinking about all this as a writerly friend has decided to call it a day. After years of utter devotion and commitment, of trying to breakthrough, he’s hanging up his pen and heading off in pursuit of what no doubt will be a sparkling academic career. No longer will he announce himself a writer (and a very good one at that) at dinner parties.

Which probably begs the question: who do we write for? Ourselves, a reader (or, we hope, two or three)? And why? For fame? (I hope not) For fortune? (Good luck) In search of truth? (Back to pretension now).

If you spend most of your time writing, are you a writer, regardless of success or otherwise?

Right, I’m off to dig a shirt out. A book to launch tomorrow.

BANG!

2010-09-18T10:57:00.002+01:00

I have to confess to not having a clue what happens once the countdown clock in the sidebar there reaches zero. Any thoughts?

NOT FAR FROM PERFECT

2010-09-17T11:25:00.003+01:00

I had the pleasure of reading this over the last couple of days. Nik Perring’s delightful collection of 22 short, short stories became a refuge, as it sat by my keyboard, allowing me to dip in whenever the day’s grind took hold. And that’s how I recommend you read it: in the doctor’s surgery, on the bus, during a power cut. Because these wonderfully witty vignettes will quickly whisk you away from life’s mundanity, moving you with their playful and surreal narratives. The tales here are brilliantly timed, often beautiful glimpses of lives we feel may, with the tiniest of tweaks, be our own.

There’s probably a case for making this book compulsory on creative writing courses, to show the aspiring writer what impact can be achieved with brevity, with sparseness - though with no little skill, I should add.

Reading, I was reminded of Jane Gardam – joyous tales that are somehow both poignant and uplifting.

For more about Nik, see here. Not So Perfect is available here.

SOME BOOKS CAME

2010-09-14T17:50:00.002+01:00

There’s a little interview with me over on the Women Rule Writer blog today.

Meanwhile, 120 copies of my collection arrived this morning for the launch next Tuesday. If you can’t wait until then, click on the image of the book in the sidebar, where Salt are doing it with 20% off.

I’ll give away a copy next week; just need a fiendishly difficult question first! Well, it did take me two years to write.

Right, off to chop some logs as tis freezing in here.

WRITING TIP #66

2010-09-11T07:51:00.002+01:00

Chekhov spoke of the writer as a witness, who details events / objects / characters as they are, no more, no less. Try to resist explaining everything, especially someone’s inner world; your words will carry more weight if readers conclude this themselves. And describe only objects rather than the narrator’s reaction to them. Too many abstract observations will kill your prose dead.

IS THAT A BIG PARCEL OR ARE YOU JUST PLEASED TO SEE ME?

2010-09-09T13:54:00.003+01:00

The book is back from press. That means it exists, it’s an actual inanimate entity. From a few ideas in my head on the MA, to collection length a couple of years later, to in the postman’s bag tomorrow. To a bookshop near you... All rather exciting really. So you can now buy a copy if you like, direct from Salt, with a discount. Who knows, you may be the first. Sorry to anyone who pre-ordered it on Amazon or the Book Depository: I don’t think they get theirs until the official publication date of November 1st. But I may be wrong.

Anyway, I promise not to go on about it (too much). A big thank you to all those who’ve left comments of encouragement over the last 18 months.

Right, I deserve a pint. Anyone joining me?

NIK'S BLOG

2010-09-07T09:01:00.001+01:00

If you don’t already know Nik Perring or his work, go and have a look. There’s an interview with yours truly there at the moment.

I’ll be reviewing Nik’s collection, Not So Perfect, in the near future.

STORIES FOR PAKISTAN - CALL FOR SUBS

2010-09-05T18:38:00.002+01:00

Another chance to use your short fiction for good. Greg McQueen, who produced 100 Stories for Haiti, is compiling an anthology of 50 stories to raise funds for flood victims in Pakistan.

Short stories/flash fiction in any genre - 500 wds max - no death, violence, or destruction. Money to the Red Cross. Stick them in the body of an email to storiesforpakistan@gmail.com

Please help Greg's work by sticking to the required word count! Strictly 500 words max.

SMELL THE INK

2010-09-02T09:17:00.008+01:00

My collection went to press yesterday, so here's hoping we got all those typos (or lits, I believe they're actually called).

Can't wait to see / hold / smell (!) it next week.

It will be available direct from Salt initially, or for pre-order from Amazon or the Book Depository before its official publication date of November 1st.

I imagine there will be a whole host of chances to win a copy here.

Here's the blurb...

A writer takes his research a little too far; a couple, stricken with guilt and grief, prepare a last meal; a group of swingers is rocked by the arrival of a new couple; a man takes a train journey to learn how to kill again; a deformed brother and sister exact revenge half a mile underground; a modern-day messiah astonishes a criminal gang; a witch grows weary of her unemployed husband; a pair of luckless gamblers are convinced they can beat the system; and a father is forever tormented by the few minutes his back was turned. Just some of the stories in this award-winning collection.

WRITING TIP #14

2010-09-01T08:14:00.001+01:00

habit / n. 1 a settled of regular tendency or practice. 2 a practice that is hard to give up.

Having a daily word count target will become your best friend. It doesn’t have to be a large number, but it should always be a minimum. There will be days you only get an hour to write, so I’d start with 300. This sounds modest, but you will often write more – the trick is to never write less. (It’s still the length of a novel in a year.) More importantly it develops your writing muscles, proves to yourself that, even on the days it feels like pulling teeth, you can do it. Learn to really cherish that hour and don’t worry about the quality of the words initially.

EXISTENTIAL ALLEGORY, A BIT DRUNK, OR JUST A DREAM?

2010-08-27T20:37:00.006+01:00

I need some help. I have a scene, several in fact, in my head and I’m buggered if I can remember where they came from. Now, I’m not planning to use it in my fiction, but as someone who draws on, among other things, memory, it’s a concern that I can’t place it at all.

Now there are a few possibilities. It could have been a TV drama I watched one night after frequenting the pub; it could have been from one of the 1,200 or so short stories I’ve read / appraised in the last two years*; it could all have been a dream.

So here it is:

It begins in a windowless room with a group of hapless ‘prisoners’, apparently, as in some Kafkaesque existential nightmare, unaware of why they are there. On inspecting the room they discover a number of doors or hatches, some of which are high up the walls and in the ceiling. Each room, if I remember, contained various accoutrements to assist the reaching and opening of the doors as well as their survival. Continuing the existential theme, some doors led to a ‘good’ room, others to a ‘bad’ one, the latter often resulting in fewer of the group remaining alive. The series of challenges gets harder, gruesome deaths occur, but they have little choice other than to try to find a way out. Days, weeks, months later and the last few people left open a hatch in a wall, believing their escape to be complete, only for the camera / narrator / my dream to slowly pan out to reveal a giant wall, infinite in size, with millions of such doors as far as they can see. They can now throw themselves into oblivion or turn around and try another door.

Ring any bells?

* I apologise if by some ridiculous coincidence you are reading this and this is a scene from a story you submitted, but take some comfort in the impression it clearly left on me.

HOLD FIRE

2010-08-23T09:30:00.004+01:00

Remember the novel? The slightly smug announcement of a finished first draft? That was some months ago, so of course a few rewrites later, it’s ready for submission, no? NO. Writing, them-what-know tell us, is rewriting. Lots of it. And at risk of repeating myself, the greatest asset you can have as a writer is a dissatisfaction with your work. It’s never finished, never good enough. It can always be made stronger. The only time you do submit it is when you’re at the stage of taking commas out, before putting them straight back in. It’s one of the most common reasons for rejection, assuming the work is of a high enough standard: an agent/publisher/editor is also looking at how much they’d have to do to with the author, how much time they’d need to spend on it.

So even after several revisions, I put the manuscript away for a week, coming back to it with fresh(ish) eyes, whereupon more anomalies, clumsy phrasing, overwriting, excessive character introspection, slips in voice, mistakes with tense, and general guff make themselves known. Remember you’re too close to the story to be dispassionate: to you it’s like a child – unique, amazing, somewhat flawed but yet still perfect. You want nothing more than to share its wonder with the world. To the person you’re submitting to, it’s one of hundreds that have landed on their desk that week.

And so, whereas I want to believe this book is the finished article, I know one more read-through will strengthen it further. And perhaps another. And…

FORWARD PRIZE

2010-08-20T17:32:00.001+01:00

I’m really pleased for my friend, Steve Spence, whose book has been shortlisted for the 2010 Forward Prize for best first collection. You can read more about the book, including a sample, here.

WRITING TIP #103

2010-08-16T19:28:00.005+01:00

If you're really stuck with your opening, cursor taunting you with its malevolent blink, go and get a story or novel you really love or repect and copy (only) the structure of the first sentence. Use the same number of verbs/nouns etc in exactly the same order. Do the same for the next sentence, and (hopefully) away you go. You'll come back endlessly to re-write the start anyway, and if nothing else it's an interesting look at how strong prose opens.

MISS AL AINIUS

2010-08-12T09:35:00.008+01:00

Can’t say I’m impressed by the hint of autumn in the air, especially after spending a fortnight in little more than swimming trunks. Not that I’d be without seasons; I would just like them to be more disparate.

I read this book almost entirely, and aptly, en route home through France. I love Faulks’ control: from the opening sentence you happily yield to his prose, safe in the knowledge a masterly hand is guiding you. Nothing is wasted, nothing spared. Of the French trilogy, Birdsong has to rank up there with any of the great novels, but this quieter story was no less of a joy.

Meanwhile, my collection has been proofed and is being typeset. Then it’s off to the printers ready for the local launch on September 21st. The book’s Facebook page is here and you can follow the build up to publication on Twitter.

Oh, and I need some help with something soon, an image, a scene I just can’t place.

ODE TO PROVENCE

2010-08-10T08:59:00.008+01:00

Lazing beneath olive trees to the febrile clack of cicadas, the warm mistral whipping overhead, then slipping into the pool, its turquoise water, limpid, cooling, keeping a white, corrosive sun at bay a while, then seeking shade to read, each sentence a soporific effort as the wine, heady and spicy, has its say, and

later, watching the moon rise, its quiet majesty lanced by a lone cloud, the cicadas piped down, allowing the tick tick of crickets to flourish, and by the walled garden a hawk moth flits above the nectar, its long proboscis silently at work, and

then later, making love to the scritch of the crickets’ lament, the night balmy, cloying, before waking to the distant church bell, faint on the breeze, fading to nothing, and heading to the pool, watching the robot that cleans traverse the bottom, silent, comically malevolent, and

now the clouds bank up from the west, a storm perhaps, but they clear to a perfect, cerulean sky, and so shade is sought for Scrabble and more wine, while guitar notes are plucked and bent, and

it’s evening again, supine on the grass, guessing at constellations, a million stars, Venus, solemn to the west, Hendrix riffs drifting out from the gîte, and we play boules under moonlight, under the influence, and

the next day, heads tender, exploring medieval towns, their narrow, cobbled streets winding endlessly upwards to the reward of cold beer, and off to a vineyard, our attempts at discourse clumsy, before driving up into the hills, the road serpentine, apparently maintained, cutting through the sea of verdant vines, and

home too soon.

A PAUSE IN PROCEEDINGS

2010-07-24T08:10:00.000+01:00

I’m off to read at Port Eliot this weekend, then to laze in Provence for a fortnight, where I’m told unlike ours their summer is still occurring.

And so a generous and well organised blogger would have prepared lots of useful and entertaining posts, scheduling them to appear in his absence

So instead, and especially if you are new here (a very good welcome to you), may I direct you the way of some (I hope) interesting pieces and conversations from the past eighteen months.

Here’s an article on dialogue. And something on characterisation. Looking at creative writing courses, do you think people can be taught to write? Why if poetry doesn’t come like leaves to a tree, it probably shouldn’t come at all. A quick flash from a master. Some writerly rules. Can you name these first lines from classic books? On rejection. Finally, here’s a review of my favourite book of recent times.

So, until my return, happy penning.

WRITING TIP #73

2010-07-21T12:58:00.002+01:00

I've no idea what happened to the first seventy two.

In an attempt to kick-start the writing day, a good tactic can be to leave composition mid-flow the day before. Not easy to do, but if you can stop mid-sentence/scene, this can save you that agonising period in the morning when your cursor blinks mockingly whilst you tidy your desk again.

But my own favourite is writing a sentence or two, in context, that are so appalling, so excruciatingly cliché-ridden and clumsy, I am forced from any inertia into rapid rewriting, and thus the day begins. Try it.

IF AT FIRST...

2010-07-19T13:00:00.004+01:00

If you’re in London over the next few weeks, this is showing at the Young Vic. Apparently, McDonagh wrote it in eight days, astonishing if true. We studied it on the MA, looking at in-yer-face theatre. I read it, alone with a glass of wine, in one sitting, and it’s nothing short of brilliant. By turns horrific and hilarious, it launched McDonagh into the big-time.

There’s also a salutary learning to be had here. As an unknown McDonagh moved to London with a burning ambition to be a playwright. He submitted eight (I believe) full-length plays to the BBC, all of which were rejected. Many would quit there, safe in the knowledge they’d given it their best shot, before sidling off into a nine-to-five. Beauty Queen was his ninth.

WHY YOU SHOULD BUY JUST ONE BOOK

2010-07-13T23:33:00.003+01:00

I’ve blogged a bit about where folk buy their books, a subject close to most writers’ hearts, and, increasingly, to their pockets. In the past I’ve stepped out of Oxfam, smug in my ability to spot barely-tarnished literary classics for £1.99; market stalls always have a bargain or two; I’ve even (permission to impart violent gestures my way granted) purchased a novel from that supermarket. I pop into the last High Street chain occasionally, browse Amazon, and for maximum feel-good points I use my local indie. Book buying patterns are shifting hugely, but it’s only recently that I’ve started to consider the impact I have, as a consumer, on the literary world.

Some of the aforementioned outlets have done very well during the recession, others, like most of us, have had a torrid time of it. My publisher especially have weathered their share of turbulence – if you followed their plight last year, you’ll remember the JustOneBook campaign that turned their fortunes around.

And now, as the tough times (hopefully) play themselves out, Salt are expanding, embracing the new challenges publishing faces, yet are still struggling through this rocky period. Of course I have a vested interest here: if Salt go under, my book doesn’t see the light of day. But it’s about something more than that. The smaller, independent publishers tend to solicit work based on quality rather than immediate commercial value. Their critical faculties are attuned to literary splendour, bringing you, the reader, wonderful, avant garde voices – beautifully written books that the chains and supermarkets wouldn’t touch. Once they are gone, so has your choice.

So I ask you to have a look at their wonderful website, adorned with stunning covers, that encase some of the finest contemporary writing you can find. I can only speak for the books I’ve read, but if you want brilliant short stories, you could do worse than start here, or here, or here. And for some remarkable, prize-winning poetry I suggest this.

Buying just one book, from Salt’s site or one of their titles on Amazon, will go a long way to ensuring their continued success.

INTERVIEW: ADNAN MAHMUTOVIC

2010-07-12T08:00:00.004+01:00

Gather round and welcome author Adnan Mahmutović, who is stopping by as part of his blog tour to discuss his latest book, Thinner than a Hair.

Adnan is a Bosnian Swede, an exile who teaches literature at Stockholm University.

I asked him about the book and a little about how he works.

Hi, Adnan. Thanks for visiting.

Hi, Tom.

Firstly, can you tell us a little about the book.

Thinner than a Hair is about a feisty Bosnian girl Fatima and her attempt to retrace her steps, or rather missteps, and understand what led her to prostitution in Germany. The book doesn’t fully deal with prostitution, but the historical circumstances which seem to have pushed many Bosnian girls in that direction. Most importantly the book depicts the margins of a war, not just the clichés and the official facts we are served in history books (the sanctioned ways of presenting tragedies). One reader wrote on Amazon that she liked how I depicted the boredom in the life of a refugee.

Like all my stories, it is a kind of farewell to refugee nostalgia, a way of dealing with the survivors’ guilt that many Bosnians feel in diaspora. Fatima has survived a war, but the inner struggles have not stopped for her.

Who will it appeal to?

While I didn’t think about it so much to begin with, I see that it appeals to a rather wide range of readers, from young adult people who can identify with Fatima’s coming-of-age story to older readers who perhaps better grasp some intricacies and subtleties of the lives I dramatize.

What came first for you, the story, the characters, setting?

I began with the character of Fatima, or some image of her, but then she changed, grew up. I’d say she was shaped by the story just as the story arose from her character. What I mean is that Fatima’s story is conditioned on the history of the Balkans. Her story cannot but be a (hi)story of Bosnia, or rather she cannot but be in conflict with this history. Now, while the historical setting is the major factor in her development, we unmistakably see how she paints a particular and peculiar picture of her history.

The setting, which took shape as I went along, became a hybrid of several different places in Northern Bosnia. The readers probably won’t notice this, but I feel I need to mention it. The narrative is quite realist, but I decided not to stick with any one place. I combined different places, as if they were not adequate to begin with, as if no one place could host Fatima’s complexities.

What aspect of writing do find most rewarding?

It has to be the moment when I can feel that the characters seem independent from my personality, my character, me as an author. They never are, of course, as John Fowles has taught us, but still, there’s that moment when I know that Fatima’s voice is not mine. There’s something liberating in that.

Are you a great planner, or is writing something more spontaneous?

Not a big planner at all. Once upon a time I took a creative writing course (and didn’t finish because the teacher vanished into thin air). On the course, we talked about preparation, mapping, profiling, kind of literary CSI, or no, more like a crook that plans a heist. Doesn’t work for me. Once I start working, nothing goes according to plans. Again, it’s liberating. When I’m writing, things happen. Planning tends to kill the flow, that’s why I’m a bit stuck now, because I planned too much. “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men”, maybe this applies to me too.

Can you offer three bits of advice for someone who’s started (or wanting to start) writing a novel, but is overwhelmed by the stamina and time required.

I must tell you I don’t much fancy giving advice, even though I’m a teacher. I guess it’s individual what works for what person, motivation-wise, but I guess if you have a story you feel you absolutely must tell, there’s no stopping you. If you don’t, then maybe you shouldn’t be writing it in the first place. The time is of course always an issue. We all have other jobs to support our families. Still, having little time may be good. When I had all the time in the world, I hardly did anything. I’m sorry, I’m not being really helpful. What I want to say is that if you have a compelling story to tell, you’ll be working on it every second of your everyday life, while walking to the bus stop, sitting on the toilet, you know.

Many thanks for your insightful and interesting answers. Good luck with the book.

Thank you for having me, Tom.

Adnan left Bosnia and settled in Sweden in 1993. After a few years in a small South-Eastern town, he relocated to Stockholm to work as a personal special-needs assistant. This employment of thirteen years financed his further studies in English literature and philosophy. In May 2010 he was awarded his PhD in English literature. He has published a collection of short stories and poetry, [Refuge]e, and two novellas, Illegitimate and Thinner than a Hair. His website can be found here.

THE METHOD & OTHER STORIES

2010-07-07T10:34:00.006+01:00

Well, here it is. The cover for my collection, due out in early November. What do you think? As I alluded to below, it could yet change. I really wasn’t sure about it at first – an author will have their own ideas, which whilst being considered by the publisher, may not work in reality. But the more I’ve sat with this, the more it’s grown on me. Dark, provocative, in parts salacious, it conjures up much of the collection, particularly the title story. (That’s not to say there aren’t tender and comic tales among them.)

Salt have a deserved reputation for producing wonderful covers. Anyway, I’ll let this sit with me some more before deciding. You can leave a comment below, or on the book’s Facebook page. Would you pick it up from a shelve? Read the back? Delve inside?
(Click on the image to enlarge it.)

HARROWING, PROVOCATIVE AND MASTERFUL

2010-07-04T21:06:00.005+01:00

I regard myself as a charitable reader, in that I don’t often give up on a book, unless it’s wasting my time. At worst I’ll give it a hundred pages. So I’ve no idea why I put this one down one day a month or so ago, reading four or five other novels, before picking it up again. I remember being stunned by the quality of the writing, aware I was in the hands of a master, but something gave. I was appraising some 600 short stories at the time, so perhaps my mind was geared to the shorter form.

Anywho, as intended, I got back to the last 200 pages today. Now, it takes a lot for fiction to unsettle me, perhaps one or two books a year will really get under my skin, where not only am I in awe of the writing, but the story has got me by the throat, or balls, or other appendages, to the extent where I’ve forgotten I’m reading and am simply experiencing a remarkable book.

As I’m probably one of the last people to get around to reading this, I’ll keep the review brief. Part psychological thriller, part philosophical inquiry, Shriver’s narrator, through epistolary means, recounts the fifteen years or so of her son’s life before he massacres nine classmates, an English teacher and a caretaker in the school’s gymnasium. We learn Eva’s near absence of maternal instinct is exacerbated by a son who, from a remarkably young age, demonstrates a propensity for acts ranging from the mischievous to outright malevolence. Ultimately the reader is left to determine what part, if any, Kevin’s parenting played in his nature, which, if you’re interested in, what can feel (in more benign circumstances) a trite debate, will prove intriguing. As a story, you’ll need to get beyond a couple of sticking points to reap the book’s full rewards. For one We Need To… will feel overwritten for some, as Eva, in increasingly macabre hindsight, deconstructs every facet of Kevin’s upbringing and the familial dynamics, not to mention cultural and social influences. And some will find Kevin almost absurdly precocious, a caricature that, fortunately, bears little relation to any children we’ll come across. But once you accept these, you’ll be drawn in to a voice so compelling, so controlled and masterly, and a story that subtly gathers pace until, in the shocking denouement, you simply cannot draw breath as the final events are told.

Kevin (and perhaps Eva) are two extraordinary characters you won't forget in a hurry.

JUDGEMENT TIME

2010-07-01T10:24:00.003+01:00

I like to think I almost never choose a book solely based on its cover. Or its title. But what do I know about the unconscious machinations of my mind? Consciously, at least, I let the judgements of people / reviewers I trust persuade me. And a piquing blurb can swing it, too.

But I’ve seen some beautiful covers in the last couple of days, coupled with wonderful, evocative titles, which have given me a new insight into why we buy / read the books we do. Now writers, typically, are rubbish when it comes to covers, which is why publishers allow them some input into this creative aspect of production, while reserving the right to tell them they are wrong when they say it’s not for them. This is because the writer is too close to their work. They’ve spent a year or two on the bit they’re good at, and so, naturally, want the window to their magnum opus to reflect what they see as its aesthetic essence. (They may even have, during composition, rewarded themselves at the end of another long day’s rewriting the middle section with fantasies of seeing a very particular cover on a shelf in a particular bookshop.) The publisher, though, wants a cover that, frankly, leads to sales. And so the negotiations begin.

I got to see the cover for my collection (due out November, folks) a couple of days ago, and whilst the image was strong and provocative, it wasn’t, of course, quite what I had in mind. Now, whilst the publisher should stick to publishing, the writer to, er, writing, an author has to, if not be overwhelmed with love by their cover, at least have strong platonic urges for it. And so my kindly and much over-worked publisher is going to produce something else for me.

Next time you’re tome browsing, step back and try to observe the processes at work. Why does a cover draw you in / repel you? Can you picture the covers of books you’ve loved ten years after reading them? Would you buy a recommended book even if the cover / title was a stinker? I’ll post my new cover up anon, so be gentle…

CARROTS, STICKS, ETC

2010-06-27T12:29:00.000+01:00

I love Adam Marek’s writing, and here he shares some motivational tools every writer needs.

AND THE WINNER IS...

2010-06-25T11:27:00.006+01:00

The stories in the longlist were all wonderful, so we’ve decided to announce the winner and two runners-up rather than slim to a shortlist.

Winner: ‘The Underwater Room’ – Jill Widner

Runners-up: ‘Salt Man’ – Jo Cannon / ‘The Pilgrims and the Half Good’ – Louis Malloy

Thanks again to all who entered. Please keep sending us your best work. If you want to know what we look for in a story, you can buy the current issue of Short FICTION here. And Issue 4, complete with Jill’s story in its own chapbook, will be out in the autumn.

ONES TO WATCH?

2010-06-20T20:41:00.001+01:00

Hands up if you like lists. Thought so. The Telegraph has named Britain’s best twenty novelists under the age of forty (an arbitrary cut off – one I suppose that, for some, is when you no longer regard yourself as young). What do you think?

NEW WRITERS COMPETITION: LONGLIST

2010-06-17T13:30:00.005+01:00

We are delighted to announce the longlist (15) of stories for Short Fiction's New Writers Competition as below:

Sara Crowley – ‘The Art of Pain’

Bill McCormick – ‘The Race’

Lucy Dennison – ‘It Wasn’t Stockhausen’s’

Megan Tuite – ‘Couple’

Jenny Holden – ‘The Roman Forum’

Val Reardon – ‘The Existentialists’

Anne Elliot – ‘Light Streaming from a Horse's Ass’

Angela Sherlock – ‘The Diffraction of Light on the Fibres’

Jo Cannon – ‘Salt Man’

Louis Malloy – ‘The Pilgrims and the Half Good’

Kevin Hyde – ‘The Djinn of the Burj’

Robert Peett – The Feast of Stephen’

Frank Rizzuto – ‘Adriana’s Overcoat’

Jill Widner – ‘The Underwater Room’

R F Marazas – ‘Kayla March’

Congratulations to you all, the stories are wonderful. Good luck for the shortlist, which should be announced next week. The prize is publication in this year's issue, plus £300.

Thanks to all those who entered.

HIGHLY INFECTED AREA

2010-06-15T08:44:00.008+01:00

A few weeks ago I tried to stream some live cricket through some egregious pop-up website. I know. But where I live, it's impossible to watch anything without sticking a large dish on the side of your house. In fact, being a listed cottage, it would have to go in the garden. And besides, being an impoverished writerly sort, I can't afford it.

Anyway, much self-flagellation later, my computer is more infected virally than Robert Carlisle in that gruesome sequel. Nothing works. Pressing anything draws a steady whir from the hard drive, that slowly intensifies until I'm certain faint laughter can be heard. My icons have disappeared. There's no start menu. Safe mode offers minimal usage, but no Interweb. Penning this has taken longer than some stories I've written.

A friend is coming around tonight to inspect the damage, whereupon I suspect we will either a) return it to the factory settings, or b) return it to the ground floor via a first floor window.

In the meantime, have a look at this very interesting article by a literary agent. A shift in the balance of power perhaps...